Let me be the one that shines with you
by maggiequeen
Summary: AU Noah Puckerman is a single dad. Rachel Berry is Broadway star turned dance teacher. Beth Puckerman is determined to bring them together. Rated T for language./ / Noah Puckerman does not date.
1. Chapter 1

**This will be 3-4 chapters long. It's halfway done and if my muse cooperates I think I'll be able to update weekly.**

**I'd like to thank my beta and friend Lori. You are awesome and great and many more wonderful things and this would totally suck without your help **

**I don't own Glee.**

If there is one thing Rachel Berry had grown used to, it was to expect certain things to happen in her life. First of all, she has very supportive parents. _Very_ supportive parents. Her dad, Hiram, is like this unquenchable force, unstoppable when it came to making her dreams come true no matter what. He walked with her every step of the way and wanted it just as badly as she did. He's the one who auditioned every potential vocal and theatre coach and dance teacher for her(not the other way around), sifting through their backgrounds with a PI and going through every aspect of their lives with a fine-toothed comb when Rachel told him she wanted to be on Broadway, so sure of her dreams at the tender age of four. He is the enabler. Her daddy, Leroy, on the other hand, is the one who keeps her sane and real. His faith in her is just as strong as her dad's, maybe even more so because he's blind to almost all the shenanigans that show biz is about, the kind of competition she's up against, the unbelievable pressure, the fact that being good - no, being great - just doesn't cut it. She knows she has to be spectacular and he believes she is because she's his little girl and there's just no way someone can be better than her.

Back home in Lima, Ohio, her fantastic potential is sorely wasted. She does fine at school and her afternoons are packed with vocal, theatre and dancing classes, but the school she attends lacks an arts program that would mold her, prepare her as a triple threat and, eventually, propel her to (inevitable) stardom. Rachel knows there are schools that focus on the performing arts, and she wants it so, so badly that she spends months researching and making lists about their admission requirements, looking for alternative jobs for her parents should they feel the need to go to one of the fantastic cities where these schools were located.

She likes that she's Lima's star though; her neighbors, the people at temple, her teachers – they're always telling her that she's meant to be someone special. That she's going places. Kids her age…well, they don't see it the same way. They're intimidated. They're scared of so much ambition and talent in someone so young (and so small) so Rachel is, more often than not, alone. They don't hate her per se; they're not mean to her like she's seen some of the popular kids be mean to the so-called "freaks". In fact, they're generally nice. Some of them are even protective of her, like this one boy she sees at temple, Noah, who once came at her rescue when this other kid from her class, the biggest, meanest bully, pushed her to take her place in the line at the cafeteria. Noah is one year older than her and, with one fierce glare from his admittedly gorgeous eyes, he effortlessly makes the bully step back, apologize to her and head to the end of the line before he disappears in the throng of students. Rachel doesn't get a chance to thank him, so she plans to bake a batch of cookies for him (her daddy convinced her that investing in nurturing skills other that the ones that will inevitably catapult her to the brightly lit stages of Broadway will one day pay off) and offer them as a thank you the next time she sees him at Temple. But then his family stops going for a while, and when they come back, his dad is gone, his mother is sad and gaining weight at a fast rate, and Noah is…different.

Her situation hits rock-bottom when she stars her school's production of _Hair_, which is all sorts of weird given they're eleven year olds and the play revolves around topics such as free love, sex, rock and roll, and drugs. They only get to perform on opening night; afterward, Sandy Ryerson, their drama teacher, is practically run out of town by the enraged parents en masse and banned from the Ohio school system. The local news station interviews the young cast and Rachel is simply mortified that her first TV appearance will be forever connected to such a torrid event. She just can't stay in Ohio. She would just _die _there.

Two weeks into junior high, she receives the best news she's ever gotten as of yet. The New York's Professional Children's School finally has an opening, and they want her to join them. She leaves with her dad in a matter of days while her daddy stays behind to wrap up their business in Lima and rent out the house before following them to the Big Apple. Rachel's excited and even more manic than usual. This is what she wants. This school, New York, it's where she's meant to be, what's meant to happen. Everything will be perfect.

Except there's this tiny, microscopic part of her that kind of wishes she didn't have to leave so soon. That part, that irrational part of her that Rachel just won't let get its say, is crushing on Noah.

Only three days after she's officially started seventh grade, she's walking to her Chemistry class, thinking about fitting the week's homework within her afternoon schedule, when she turns a corner without looking ahead and bumps right into a warm body. Now, let's be honest – Rachel's tiny, so of course she falls back on her behind when she crashes into someone who's at least two heads taller than her. What does catch her off guard is the cold, sticky liquid that hits her on the side of the face on collision and drips down her neck and her chest, completely ruining her shirt.

"Crap," the boy curses and kneels beside her. "You okay? Sorry, I wasn't looking-"

"That's alright, I was quite distracted myself." She looks up and meets Noah Puckerman's eyes and her breath catches in her chest. Rachel doesn't even know how she was even able to speak a whole, complete sentence without stuttering.

"Here, lemme help you out." He stands up, securing her tiny hand between his, he pulls her up like she's as light a feather. Avoiding her gaze, he bends over and picks up her books.

She wonders if he recognizes her, although the chances are pretty slim. They've never really spoken, she never got to thank him after he stood up for her a couple of years back in elementary school, and their families don't really run the same circles at Temple. Rachel _always_ notices him, though. It was like she had this… ability that told her when he was around. Like a radar. A Noah-radar.

This is the first time she wonders if he's ever noticed her too.

"Stop looking at me like that," he mumbles under his breath, and she thinks she sees his honey skin turn slightly pink in the cheeks.

"Like what?" She doesn't know where this boldness is coming from. This boy talking to her makes her so nervous, she's shocked she hasn't turned around and sought for a hiding place.

"Like a deer in the headlights." His hand moves towards her face, and Rachel sucks in a breath as he brushes a glop of slushie off her brow. "C'mon. Let's get you cleaned up."

Noah tugs her hand and strides down the hall to the locker rooms.

Rachel thinks it's physiologically impossible to feel the skin his fingers touched on her brow scorch, when she's shivering cold. Also his hand – his hand feels really good wrapped around hers like that.

She still leaves Lima. Once in New York, she gets to really nurture her talent. The school's education in the performing arts is everything she's dreamt of and she grows professionally as a performer in the years to come. She's even going to auditions on Broadway and gets to understudy the role of Young Cosette on Les Mis. When it's time to actually worry about getting into a good college (she's been planning her education on Excel since kindergarten), Rachel fully expects to be wooed by the very best performing schools of the country. And of course, Rachel Berry is always right.

Julliard wants her, as do the North Carolina School for the Arts, the Pratt Institute and the Eastman School. She should have been embarrassed with how she was being propositioned by the schools (really, there was no other word for it), who seduced her with tempting offers, amazing promises and flattering words. But she knows she's good, all her teachers know she's good, and it's just fitting that the rest of the world knows it, too. In the end she chooses Julliard, because New York, and New York has always been her dream and the center of the universe. Of her universe, at the very least.

College is a whirlwind, and before she knows it, she's graduated with an offer to join the Les Mis cast in London, to play the adult Cosette.

Her dads fly to see her on opening night, even though Daddy absolutely abhors planes. She's a professional, even if this is her first production outside the comfort zone school and childhood provided, but she admits to be nervous all the same. She was in another country, helping bring to life possibly the longest running show in musical theatre history, and – honestly – she doesn't want to _suck_. Her dads offer comfort, as they always had, and she feels better to have them in the audience on opening night. But in the stillness of the night, as she lays awake in her apartment (or flat, as geography would have it), Rachel wishes her entire life, every single aspect of it, didn't revolve around being a star. She has neglected her social life in favor of honing her talent even further. She's hung out with people from school, people who share the same dreams and ambitions, but she can't really call them her friends. The business is competitive and no one trust their colleagues. She just feels uneasy in social situations that are beyond her comfort zone. Or maybe she's just the kind of person who doesn't make friends. She thought she didn't have friends in Lima because they were intimidated by her talent but she finds that talented people aren't friends with her either. In all honesty though, Rachel hasn't really made an effort in the friend-making area.

She wishes she had.

On opening night, she gets an standing ovation for her performance. Afterwards, her dads give her a book, but not the kind you buy in a bookstore to kill a little time before dozing off to sleep or to be entertained during a Tube ride. It's homemade, and the pages are full with handwriting she recognizes as theirs, complete with pictures and cute little drawings here and there. It's like a fairy tale, telling her story from the beginning, every class she took, every competition she was in, various birthday trips to Chicago and New York to see her favorite plays, the adversities, however mild, she's had to face, her reports card from school – every single event in her life that has led her to who she is and where she is today.

Rachel openly cries when she reads it. Her life is the theatre. She needs applause to live. Without it, all she has left is her family. She can't lose it. God forbids that ever happens.

Her career really picks up once she gets back from London. Returning with a stellar reputation is certainly a career boost, and she's suddenly being_ begged_ to audition for some of the musicals she's always dreamt about. S_pring Awake_ning is fun, and Wendla's particular brand of drama suits her as well as the as the black thigh highs, so she runs with it for a little over a year, even after Jesse St. James becomes her co-star. He's a professional like herself, and while Rachel is reluctant to let go of the fact that he once played her like a Hasbro board game in order to make her emotionally unstable so that he could be the star of their Julliard's Senior concert, she can still work with him.

Then, _Cabaret_. It's more grown up, and there's no naivety in it, a clear contrast to her previous work. But she nails Sally Bowles like she's nailed all her other roles. Frankly, though, the emotional strain of the tragic characters she's played so far proves to be too much for her, so in a move her manager vehemently objected to, Rachel leaves Cabaret after only seven months on stage and moves on to _Everyday Rapture_. It's extravagant and different, and she can relate to her character and it just works so well.

Belle is probably her favorite role, and she sticks to it for two whole years. By then she's months away from turning twenty eight, with several Tony nominations on her CV and even two Drama Desks for Outstanding Actress in a Musical for _Spring Awakening_ and _Beauty and the Beast_ to show for.

That's when she's forced to stop.

It's horrible and so sad. It's a nightmare. She has gotten to live her dream, gotten the accolades and the acclaim, something she wants now as much as she did when she was twelve. But it's cruel that the dream gets taken away from her so quickly.

She never again gets to perform.

It's just not…fair.

It starts as a slight hoarseness. She ignores it, pushes through and continues taxing her voice to its very limits. Soon, it gets worse and she starts dropping notes she has sung since she was four. A trip to the doctor delivers a very scary message: partial vocal paralysis. The only cure is a risky surgery and she vacillates so much on whether to go through with it or not, by the time she decides, the choice has been taken away from her.

Rachel Berry can sing no more.

Once that happens, she's dead to Broadway, and Broadway wastes no time in telling her so.

ooo

She thinks it's weird, how she feels so much better about her situation when she returns to Ohio than she did before she left New York for good. Ohio had always been the place to get away from, the last place on earth she wanted to be in. New York was everything she ever wanted and loved, but after everything that happened, the lights she craved started dimming and the perpetual life of the City That Never Sleeps became something irritating. Being away from all that, everything New York represented for her, should have drowned her in the depths of clinical depression.

It didn't. When her plane lands in Columbus, Rachel breathes relieved. When she drives her rental to Lima, she's smiling. When she watches the town's familiar scenery pass by through the window, she feels… okay.

She figures it's not the end of the world. It's not. She's more than just Broadway. She has had her fair share of standing ovations and autograph signings. In the past six years, she has had more success most performers ever accomplish in a lifetime. She can safely say she was (is) a star. And her life – it's definitely not over.

It's just a different kind of life now. Different kind of dreams. And admittedly, she welcomes the tranquility of this new life of hers. She might have lived for the applause but doing eight shows a week and near daily rehearsals for six years (not to mention she's been dancing, singing, going to acting lessons, preparing herself to be a triple threat since she was four) can be quite draining. She thinks she might even like her new, different life.

She hasn't even been home for two whole days and her dads are already demanding that she cooks for them. They're committed to take out and they wouldn't be able to find their way around an oven even if their lives depended on it so her culinary talents have always been appreciated by them. And she's missed it as well, cooking for someone else. Taking care of the people she loves, even if it's only by making them their favorite spaghetti alla carbonara, makes her feel incredibly good about herself. She hasn't had the chance to do any of it during the past couple of years.

Plus she's more than a little happy to get out of the house. Don't get her wrong, she loves her dads and her childhood home, but sleeping in her old bedroom is unexpectedly unnerving. She hasn't lived there since she was twelve and the house had been rented by another family while she finished high school. Sure, her dads came back when she started college but it's been nearly ten years since then. She's changed, grown up, and she doesn't appreciate the bright yellow walls, her pink curtains and the alarming amount of stuffed animals she'd collected throughout her childhood, greeting her as she crosses the threshold. It makes her uncomfortable, like it's some sort of shrine to her childhood. Redecorating really wouldn't be worth it since she's moving into her own place as soon as she finds one that meets all her requirements. So yes, Rachel wants to escape the ghost of the marginally perkier version of herself that lived in that house. She is actually enjoying doing errands, from going to the post office to change her address, meeting her realtor, Mercedes Rutherford, to discuss her options, and going to the store to pick up a few things for home.

Rachel is inspecting the variety of pasta brands available when she feels a pointy finger tapping her shoulder lightly. "Excuse me," says a sharp, determined voice behind her. "I need you to do me a favor."

It's a girl, she realizes upon turning around; a teenager, more specifically, probably not a day older than thirteen though her hazel-golden eyes speak of a maturity that she's too young to have achieved. She's petite, two whole inches shorter than Rachel and the darkest shade of natural black hair she has ever seen, gathered up in a neat high pony tail, her bangs covering her eye brows. It's summer out there but her complexion is extremely fair, though not in a sickly way. Her cheeks turn pink and Rachel realizes she's been staring at her for who knows how long.

And she finds that this girl? Has got an attitude, if the incredulously annoyed look she's is giving her right now is any indication.

"Hello," Rachel smiles politely. "You require my assistance?"

Her bangs are covering her brows, but Rachel is positive her brows went up to her hairline, matching her look of amusement.

"Yeah," the girl suddenly grabs Rachel's hand and tugs her towards the other side of the store. "I don't know you. Do you live here?"

"I used to, when I was younger. Now I'm back," Rachel replies, more than a little confused.

"Cool." Without stopping, she glanced at Rachel. "I'm Bee, by the way."

"Pleasure to meet you, uh, Bee—" _what kind of a name is that?_ They turn on aisle nine.

The girl doesn't return the pleasantries and stops in front of the shelves. "I need you to get me some of these," Bee says, meeting Rachel's eye for a moment before ducking her head.

With a frown, Rachel averts her eyes from her and looks, for the first time, at what the shelves held.

Tampons.

_Oh, God._

Rachel is certain she blanched that very moment. In fact, she may have audibly gasped in horror too.

How could this be happening to her barely over 24 hours after she sets foot in Lima? It's positively surreal.

For starters, she's completely outraged that a girl would ask a stranger to buy her tampons. She could have chosen a perverted child molester or a serial killer or…you get her point. Yes, Lima is a relatively safe place to live but this girl needs to learn not to trust strangers, no matter how nice they seem to be.

Then she is overcome with the reality of the situation. This little girl, Bee, is turning into a young lady. She's taken the first step up the ladder of womanhood. She is growing up. It's one of the most important moments of a girl's life. Rachel is practically tearing up at the thought.

And her family apparently has no idea, or if they do, they don't offer the support she obviously needs if she is desperate enough to ask a complete stranger for tampons.

_Oh, God_.

"So, are you gonna?" Her cheeks red, Bee speaks lowly. "I have money. I promise I'll pay for them. I just need you to pass them through the register. And, you know, tell me what kind I'm supposed to get ."

Rachel gulped. Her heart was breaking right now for this girl. What kind of horrible home life does she have? Would this be the time were Rachel calls social services and gets her hauled out of the definite house of horrors her home apparently is?

"That won't be necessary, Bee," she smiles brightly, trying to convey sympathy for her, reaching for two boxes of Tampax Junior and placing them in her cart. "But you're going with me to the diner on the corner and we're going to have a little chat, alright?"

"Yeah, sure," she shrugged.

Rachel shakes her head. _This poor, lonely girl._

"Alright Bee. I still need to get some stuff, would you mind joining me?"

"No problemo."

Together they walk around the store, Rachel picking up different items here and there.

"You know, you kind of look familiar. You never told me your name," Bee says after a while.

Rachel smiles brightly as they fall in the line to the register. "My name is Rachel Berry."

"Hold _up._" Her hazel eyes wide open, she dramatically stares at Rachel. "You're _Rachel Berry_. Broadway _star_ Rachel Berry." Rachel nodded, placing the items on the counter. "People talk about you all the time!"

She chuckles, a warm feeling spreading inside her by Bee's fascination. "Good things, I hope?"

"You bet," she looks at the brunette up and down, as if evaluating her. "Even my dad, and he never talks about girls," she says casually as Rachel gives the money to the cashier. "So what did you want to talk about?"

They're on the sidewalk now, the summer heat attacking them once they step out from the air-conditioned environment of the store. As much as she would like to ask away and find out what in God's name is going on with this girl's life, they have more pressing matters. "Let's get you to a restroom first," Rachel says with a pointed look, leading the girl to her car to leave her groceries before heading to the diner.

After checking that there was no one else in the restroom, Rachel explains in detail the correct usage of the tampons to Bee, even using her lipstick to draw a diagram on the mirror over the sink to illustrate the procedure. Then she leaves her, telling her she'll be waiting in the hallway and to just yell if she needs her. Minutes later, Bee exits the restroom, still looking embarrassed but also a little accomplished.

Rachel thinks she's crazy or something of the sort for feeling so deliriously proud of the girl right now.

It's only when they have milkshakes in front of them ( there was no point in avoiding dairies anymore now that her voice is effectively ruined so she might as well enjoy what was previously forbidden. Plus, who doesn't love milkshakes?) that Rachel decides to breach the subject.

"I know this might come as a bit harsh and crude, but I'm absolutely appalled that you would seek help from a stranger for such an important matter as menstruation. I don't know you or your family, but I'm going to need to have a chat with your parents to make sure everything is in order. I'm sure your home environment is the last thing you want to talk to a stranger but if you're in trouble, I'm going to have to step in for your protection. I might even bring the authorities with me. But I need to know," she takes a big breath. "Are you being in any way neglected by your parents or family members?"

"No," Bee stares at her blankly. "My dad's at work, I'm gonna tell him about this whole thing when I see him but I'd much rather get… _that_…" she glances to her lap "under control first."

"How about your mother or any other family members?" Rachel frowns suspiciously.

"Gran's out of town and Aunt Bex is away in college," she shrugs. "And I don't have a mom."

"Oh." She's not sure what to think. Bee doesn't look like she's lying, but Rachel can't be sure either. And she _needs_ to be sure.

"I promise, I wasn't going to keep this from my dad," Bee repeats. "And I asked you because you didn't look like a total psycho."

"Thanks," Rachel frowns. "I guess."

Bee chuckles before taking a long slurp of her milkshake.

Rachel decides she'll give Bee's father the benefit of the doubt. But she is _so_ meeting him ASAP.

Ooo

Bee Puckerman is a genius.

Scratch that. Bee Puckerman is a _mastermind_. Watch out world; lying, manipulating and general awesomeness are her superpowers and she's not afraid to use them.

See, she's not an idiot. She would never ask a stranger the time of the day, much less tampons. There are some sick freaks out there, no need to bait them.

She recognized Rachel Berry the moment she saw her profile. Chick is totally famous around here, everybody knows who she is. Bee has spent countless hours collecting the few but precious pictures she has of her, some of her in stage costumes, that she'd gotten from the local newspaper. She practically memorized every bit of the actress's face.

Okay, so she might have been a teeny bit lying when she said she _thought _Rachel looked familiar .

She's been to New York only once, when her and her dad took a little road trip last summer and the Big Apple was one of the cities they visited. After a considerable amount of pouting, sulking, fake weeping and countless promises of year-round stellar behavior and retirement from her well-earned position as teachers' worst nightmare, Bee was able to convince her dad to take her to see the play Rachel Berry was starring at the moment. Thankfully, she was in _Beauty and the Beast_; Bee's manipulation skills were legendary, but she's sure not even she could've convinced her dad to take her to see _Cabaret_ or S_pring Awakenin_g given the mature content of those plays. Of course, Bee also plays the soundtrack of _Beauty and the Beast_ with religious fascination until she finally drives her dad nuts and he takes away her iPod and hides it in the freezer.

First of all,_ no_, Bee is hardly a stalker, just to clear that up. It's completely normal to be a fan. And secondly, her obsession with Rachel Berry is perfectly healthy. There's nothing wrong with her and her affection for the town's one and only star. It's _natural_. Why, you might ask?

Well (and this comes out with a certainly sizeable amount of embarrassment, you can rest assured), Bee has this lifelong fantasy where Rachel Berry freaking _excels_ at the role of mother.

Of _Bee's _mother.

It's not her fault, okay? Her biological mother wanted nothing to do with her or her dad, and he's never, ever brought a woman home he might be interested in having a serious relationship with. Bee needs a mother. She needs one. Her grandma's awesome but doesn't quite cut it. She's only got one school year left as a junior high student, and after that? High school. Dating. Boys. Breaking curfew. Popularity. General femme fatale badassness. If she's going to rule high school like she's meant to (and are you kidding? It's her _fate_) she needs a well-rounded home support system. She is not going to be able to pull off even a tenth of the things she's got planned for high school if her dad keeps such a short leash on her. Bee gets it, okay, she is and always will be his little girl, and he loves her and worries and blah freaking blah.

Her theory is that if her dad finds the right girl (namely, Rachel Berry but she's open to suggestions. Should he choose someone else, Bee's perfectly okay with submitting said girl to a full evaluation to decide whether she is worthy of her dad or not) he would lay off her back considerably. Having her dad's attention divided is more than enough for Bee to carry on her family's unofficial tradition: dominate McKinley High, badass way.

Also her old man deserves to be happy.

And she's not entirely opposed to the idea of, you know, having a mom and siblings and stuff.

So that's that.

And hello? Rachel would be a kickass mom. She's beautiful, talented, loaded, _Jewish_, and more importantly, she looks like she'd be the kind of mother who'd let her break curfew every once in a while and stand up to her father when he wouldn't let her go out on a date with a boy (she's had this thing with Jim Malory going on since her friend Alex's birthday party last month; they were playing Seven Minutes in Heaven, and oh boy, guess who she had the pleasure to spend those 7 minutes with? They'd been hanging out too, only with their large group of friends, but Bee's pretty sure he's going to ask her out soon and the last thing she needs is her dad scaring him off the minute he finds out). Anyway, Bee's sure her dad would totally fall for Rachel once she orchestrates enough date scenarios for them to fall in love with each other.

She's aware how crazy this all sounds. She is very, very aware. But who cares? Rachel is perfect for her dad, and she read she retired from Broadway and was back in Lima for good, whatever the reason. There is really only one thing left for Bee to do.

Make it happen.

Meeting Rachel at the 7/11 had been purely the universe putting everything into place so now, she just has to put Operation: Get Noah Puckerman and Rachel Berry Together For Good into play. And yes, she knows she needs a better name for it.

Feigning helplessness (because she is a Puckerman and Puckermans are in no way, shape or form, helpless) she sighs dejectedly as she eyes her bike in the 7/11 parking lot.

"Everything okay?" Rachel asks, digging her car keys from her purse.

"Yeah," Bee pouts a little. "It's just that riding my bike right now is the last thing I feel like doing."

"Don't you worry about that," Rachel smiles and slings an arm around Bee's shoulders. "I'll give you a ride."

"Thanks," Bee smiles shyly and her cheeks turn slightly pink (yes, she can blush on demand. It's one of her many talents. She can also cry and dislocate her left shoulder when needed).

"Where to?"

Oooo

There is nothing more beautiful than the sight of a wrecking ball in action. It's so perfect, so graceful as it swings smoothly on mid air, back and forward, before it unleashes its might and smacks the walls of the warehouse, masonry disintegrating with every blow. There's the sound of iron meeting granite and glass and more iron and the promise of an avalanche of what used to be a building and now it's nothing more than a pile of debris.

Fuck deconstruction. That green friendly, let's-remove-the-materials-by-type-and-in-alphabetical-order. Shit is boring as fuck. Why would you want to do that when you can use wrecking balls and bulldozers and high reach excavators and (fuck yeah) explosives? What is the point to having a license to fucking destroy things if you didn't enjoy it?

Noah Puckerman grins widely and whoops along with his crew as the last bits of the old warehouse fall down. This is not the first time he thinks he should not be this excited about witnessing a demolition. His high school football coach used to call him (fondly, he'd like to think) a psychopath and he had a feeling the guidance counselor agreed with him at some point, if the panicked way she turned around in mid-step and ran away when she happened across him in the halls or even the hilarious-as-fuck way she blanched and started shaking that one time when he _willingly_ went to her office to see her were any indication. In hindsight, that was really douchetastic of them. Come on, it's not like he was hurting little animals and had a secret stash of firearms under the football field bleachers. He was a jock and he terrorized geeks and losers, yeah, and he could make people lose their bladder control on fear alone, but he wasn't _that_ bad. The State of Ohio and the city of Lima both authorized him and trusted with heavy machinery and explosives for construction purposes, so _suck that_.

His job is so cool. When he was sixteen, the only tolerable future life prospects where those outside and away from Lima. He hated this town and everything it represented. Staying after high school ended equaled being a loser and Noah vehemently refused to be a loser.

Now, he wouldn't leave Lima for the world. And it's not just because of his job or his family. He could just as easily find another job in a big city and move away with Beth. He could sell his house and find an apartment. He always thought, for some reason, that Boston was probably a nice place to live. But he likes knowing that the crime rate and statistics here in Lima allows him not to be _too_ worried about his daughter; he still worries, and quite a lot, but probably not as much as he would if they were living someplace else. Also he knows almost everybody: he used to clean pools, mow lawns, shovel driveways and stuff like that in the past, and his clientele was pretty extended too, and he sure as hell made an impression on his teachers and the people who used to go to school with him. These people used to fear him when he was a teenager, but he'd (partly) grown out of his bad boy ways after he became a father. He used to be seen as a loser, a slacker and a no-good motherfucker (he went through a cougar phase, okay? They were really educational. Shut up). Now, they see that he works hard, and not just so that he can buy dip and slushies or sleep with cougars. They see his daughter and his family mean everything to him. People actually like him now and he likes that. Yes, sometimes it is annoying when his neighbor Mrs. Greenberg rings his doorbell on a Sunday afternoon and asks him to do some handy work for her around the house, but he still does it because A, the old hag would probably slip and break her hip _again _if he didn't, and B, he feels really good when she smiles and thanks him for a job well done (plus, she's a helluva baker and her oatmeal raisin cookies are to die for).

And his job? Fucking phenomenal. Seriously, he's been in this line of work for eleven years, since he graduated from high school. His uncle Josef used to be the general contractor and he employed him as a worker while he attended OSU Lima to get his degree in Construction System Management. Then he got licensed and Uncle Joe retired and left him his business. Now it's been 5 years and he's kept the whole operation running smoothly. At twenty-nine, he owns a successful business, has a house _way_ nicer than the one he grew up in, helps his mom put his sister through college and has the most beautiful daughter he could have ever asked for.

Well, he never actually asked to have a kid, but nonetheless, the little midget was the best thing to ever happen to him.

But back to work already. The new Lima Presbyterian Hospital isn't gonna build itself.

Yeah, that's right, he's building a hospital. He's not a sociopath. He's the _shit_.

(And he's gonna be _so loaded_ when they finish this project.)

The huge pile of debris is waiting for them to do the clearing. The local authorities demand that they reuse all the recyclable elements, such as rubble (which is a great landfill as any) and wood, meaning Noah's crewmen have to sort out the stuff they can use. The working day is nearly over though so he knows they're not going to get it done before 5pm. Mind you, the warehouse wasn't exactly monumental, but still, it's going to take them at least till the end of the week to sort through the debris, roll off the waste to the waste treatment facilities and clear the space. Then and only then could the actual construction begin.

He's wrapping things up with the civil engineer and the architect when he feels the sudden, familiar weight of Beth hanging off his back, her arms latched around his neck and her knees digging into his lower back. He grins knowingly, ignores the gaping expressions of the two men in front of him, and reaches back, dragging Beth up over his shoulder and suspending her in mid air, head down, tickling her sides mercilessly.

She's begging him to stop with tears in her eyes, choking on her giggles, and she's flailing around trying to escape so he's kind of flailing around with her (in a totally manly way, of course) when he turns around and sees _the_ hottest pair of legs he's ever seen. No, really, he's been around and had the pleasure (no pun intended) to become quite acquainted with a large section of the female population of Lima. He _knows_ hot. This right here? Perfection.

God, he needs to get laid. He hasn't fucked a chick in like _six months_ (God, he hates himself), and that was not a pleasant memory. She was the caterer for the parent-teacher conference at his daughter's school and she was kind of hot, even if he hasn't been into blondes since high school (thank you, Quinn Fabray). He figures that if he hadn't been suffering from a severe case of blue balls at the moment, he wouldn't have taken the trouble of switching on the charm on for her. But Beth was staying at his mother's house that night and he was questioning his manhood enough to let the opportunity walk away. In the end, it kind of sucked anyway, since she was incredibly selfish in the sack and got really freaky the morning after, making, like plans for dinner and meeting his daughter. He didn't need that shit. Especially if she was such a terrible fuck.

He used to get so much play back in high school, it was ridiculous. Seriously, when he was sixteen, it seemed like it was open season on any and all pussy he could get at. He didn't even need to chase them. Then he got Quinn Fabray pregnant and chicks started to avoid him altogether, like they could catch the preggers from him. He still fucked a lot of cougars but after Beth was born, he would much rather spend every minute he wasn't at school or working with her (not to mention he had Child Services on his back at the time and they kind of frowned upon promiscuity). So his once awesome sex life took a backseat to fatherhood.

It's not like he's been celibate ever since he became a father. Hell no. But there's also the problem that the sort of chicks he's interested in? They are definitely not 'meet-the-daughter' material. Hell, they're not even 'meet-the-dog' material. And the ones who were, want a fucking family; they see him, a stud, with a badass job, a house and a daughter and they _dare_ to assume he's game for all their shenanigans. And he's not. He's very much happy with the life he and his daughter have just the way it is.

But dammit, he gets lonely sometimes. Okay, most of those times are at night (or early morning, you know, _R-A-G-I-N-G W-O-O-D_), but lately that annoying, nagging feeling in his gut, like he was _missing something,_ would appear at the most random of moments and freak the shit out of him. He wasn't some sort of wuss with girly feelings, okay? Yeah, there are times when he wishes he wasn't alone in this whole parenting business but honestly, he's not doing that bad. His daughter is happy and he has enough going on with work that he hasn't the time and effort to dedicate to a relationship.

He shakes his head. How the everlasting fuck did he go from admiring a seriously hot pair of legs to think about relationships? What's happened to him? He should be concentrating on the smooth expanse of tanned skin and the legs that go on for miles even if she's wearing brown leather flat strappy sandals or whatever the fuck those thing are called.

His eyes rake higher and he decides this chick's ridiculously tanned, tight, hot body, in that airy white sundress she's wearing which, by the way it barely reaches her mid thigh, is totally stored on the spank bank. That shit is gonna stay in the rotation for a while.

He sees her fidget and realizes all too late that he's been checking out her rack for too long (she has three little buttons up top and they look like they might pop open any second now and bare her goods, so yeah, he's staring). He actually has the decency to look embarrassed to be caught ogling as he glances up and meets her gaze.

That's when he sees her face.

It's common knowledge that just because a woman has a smoking body, it doesn't mean she's pretty. He remembers back in high school there was this Cheerio who, from the neck up, keenly resembled a warthog. Seriously, she was that ugly. But from the neck down? Total hottie. Tall, curvy on all the right places, firm ass and porn star nipples. But yeah, she was fugly. He still tapped that twice, though, went doggy style both times. With the lights off.

Now a chick connoisseur like him knows there are a lot of types of beauty. He's seen angelic (Quinn Fabray), exotic (Santana Lopez), cute (Brittany Pierce), unconventional (Coach Sylvester, God rest her soul) striking and stunning. This girl in front of him is, hands down, the loveliest creature he's ever seen. Her plump, red mouth, begging to be devoured, and her big brown eyes are the first things to get his attention. Upon further inspection, he notices the gentle arch of her brows, the strong jaw and cheekbones, the mole on the hollow of her left cheek, the flawless, golden skin, and the long wavy brown hair, framing her beautiful face and cascading over her shoulders almost covering her breasts. Her nose might be considered a little big for her face but he thinks it adds character. The way it all hangs together? Fucking gorgeous.

(He lingers on the mole, finds it incredibly enticing. He also distantly remembers another girl who had a mole on her cheek as well.)

Then it hits him. He knows who this chick is. She's Lima's favorite native, the same girl he accidentally doused in grape slushie when he was thirteen, had moved to New York to be a star, and whom his daughter was stalking from a distance. Rachel Berry. It takes him a total of five seconds to process all of this –all of her – and decide that New York's loss is totally his gain.

Knowing all this, he's intrigued as to what the fuck she was doing hanging out with his daughter.

"Dad," Bee tugs on his shirt to get his attention. Noah looks down. "Stop staring at her, you're making her uncomfortable."

"I wasn't staring," he denies strenuously. Just to be sure, he avoided the brunette's eyes. Bee just arches her brow as she continues to stare at him (and guess where she picked that up?). "I _wasn't_," he hisses, then quickly changes the subject. "What are you doing here? I'm supposed to pick you up from soccer practice in half an hour."

Color creeps into her cheeks as she avoids her father's gaze. "I skipped."

Noah's jaw tenses visibly. The soccer field is good 5 miles away from the construction site for her to come on her own. "You know how I feel about you going around town all alone. If you want to skip practice, you go straight home or to one of your friends' house as long as you text me and let me know. You can't come here all the way from town on your own, it's dangerous."

"I drove her," Rachel cuts in, gulping audibly. She doesn't want Bee to be lectured for her actions until her father understands all facets of the situation.

Noah turns to face her again, his brow cocking up. He wants an explanation.

"I'm Rachel. I met your daughter today, at the 7/11. She required help and I assisted her with the promise that she'd let me come and talk to you," she says all in one breath, anxious to get the issue out of the way.

"About?" His tone is defensive, like he always gets when something threatens his daughter. Granted, Rachel doesn't seem like she could hurt a fly and her breath control is very promising but still.

At that, Rachel suggestively looks down at Bee, prompting her to enlighten her father.

She blushes (for real, this time) and glances at her dad. "I have important news to share with you, dad," Bee started tightly.

"Okay?" Noah crosses his arms over his chest. He knows his daughter and she's never shy or embarrassed. He's starting to worry.

She takes a big breath but when she opens her mouth, no word comes out.

"You can tell him, sweetie," Rachel encourages with a reassuring smile.

Okay, now he's officially worried. What the fuck was going on between his daughter and this woman?

"I got my period," Bee says diligently staring at her feet, her voice small and soft.

Well, fuck.

He did not see that one coming.

And how is he supposed to react? Should he congratulate her? Hug her? That's probably not a bad idea since she looks a little upset right now.

"Hey." He holds her against his chest, rubbing her back. "There's no need to be embarrassed. All girls go through it. It's natural," he assures her. Then he turns his face to Rachel, nearly freaking out, and mouths to her, _Right?_

She nods, beaming at him. Because the image of this strong, exceptionally handsome man in front of her hugging his daughter and making her feel comfortable with herself when he probably felt out of his element, was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

"You're not mad?" Bee says, her face buried in his chest.

"You crazy Bee?" he laughs, ruffling her hair and messing with her pony tail. "I'm fucking proud of you."

"Aww," Rachel sighs with a contented smile. "That's just so cute."

Noah's head shoots up and gives her an incredulous look. Rachel blushes under his gaze and covers her mouth with her hands. She can't believe she said that out loud.

Bee giggles. "Are you questioning his badassness?"

"What-? No," she shakes her head earnestly. "I was just- well, it was lovely moment, really-"

"I'm going to say hi to Jacob." Bee extracted herself from her father's embrace and smiled at the two adults before bouncing off to a weird looking young man with excessively curly red hair manning a sledgehammer.

They both watch her go (Noah yells at her to put on a hard hat) and silence engulfs them.

Rachel can't believe this is Bee's dad. Well, she is a beautiful child so it really shouldn't be a shocker that her father is attractive, to put it mildly (she's been to quite a few parties in New York and London, and has met exquisitely handsome male models that would sell their souls to Satan for features like this man's. He looks like he could seduce a saint if he cared to). But she hadn't expected someone quite so young. He couldn't be much older than herself.

She'd been originally taken back when she and Bee had filled into the construction site and the girl had pointed his back to let Rachel know which one was her dad. He was tall and large, his wide shoulders testing the seams of the gray tee shirt he was wearing, his arms toned and just _lovely _(she couldn't find any other word in her admittedly superior vocabulary for it)_._ She'd been mesmerized and insanely attracted by the sheer strength he managed to give off and that was even before she'd seen his face. And then she did and saw his smile, how carefree he was with his daughter, how his hazel eyes darkened to a deep shade of green as his gaze raked up and down her body.

She doesn't even know his name and she's already all hot and bothered.

"She was embarrassed to buy tampons," Rachel tells him, forcing herself not to melt in his presence and lowering her voice so the two men that passed by them with identical wheelbarrows filled with debris wouldn't hear her. "I was there, so she asked me. She said she planned to tell you after she got the situation under control."

He nods, a smile tugging his lips. "She's like that. Beth wouldn't call for help unless the house was on fire."

She beams. "Her name is Beth? It's beautiful."

Noah frowns. "She didn't tell you her name?"

"She introduced herself as Bee."

He rolls his eyes. "Of course she did. I'm Noah Puckerman, by the way," he smirks and thrusts his hand out to shake hers.

It's Rachel's turn to frown. She must have heard wrong, or at least her memory is failing, because she once knew a boy from Lima named Noah with smoldering hazel eyes, and it'd be too much of a coincidence if that boy had grown up to become the man currently in front of her.

He chuckles at her confusion. "We've met. You made me 'Apology accepted' cookies back in junior high after I accidentally tossed my slushie at you."

Her cheeks grow red remembering the peace offering she gave him mere days before leaving for New York. "Well, you wouldn't stop saying sorry every time we saw each other, so I had to do something to make you understand I had forgiven you. And how did you know it was me?"

"You're Rachel Berry," Noah shrugs. "Everybody here knows who you are."

Rachel should be on her way to her car, forgetting about this whole thing. Her only reason to come to this place was to make sure Bee was fine, and she is, and Rachel is a fairly good judge of people's character and she is positive Noah was a wonderful father. Besides, she's interrupting his work and Bee is off mingling with the construction crew. She's helped Bee as much as she was supposed to; her job is done.

So why can't she bring herself to leave?

"Noah, if I may?" Rachel asks before she can stop herself. He arches his eye brow and she begins to think he's patented that facial expression. "I don't want to be privy or anything, but I was wondering, do you, uh, have a, ah, lady friend or, you know?"

Noah isn't sure what she's really asking him, and in all fairness, Rachel doesn't exactly know either. He takes two steps, invading her personal space. "Why? Interested?"

"What-No! I—" Rachel huffs, her spine steeling so quickly she vaguely fears a lumbar injury. "I'm just worried about Beth."

She would be the first to admit that, until then, Noah Puckerman was the epitome of a gentleman. Now, his scowl tells her to run. Fast.

"Listen up, lady. I don't know you and you sure as fuck don't know the first thing about me or my daughter, so kindly back the hell off before you piss me off."

She gulps down. The sheer intensity of his scowl is surely the single most terrifying facial expression she's ever seen. Rachel doesn't think she'd ever want to cross this man. Except now she kind of is.

"I didn't mean as an insult or doubt over your parenting skills," she assures him, and she's not sure when she grew a backbone but apparently now she's using it. "I was merely wondering if there's a woman in your life who Bee can turn to if she has questions regarding her menstrual cycle. It's hard on girls, okay? And this is a milestone in her development, both physical and psychological. I grew up without a mother as well, and trust me when I tell you that no matter how much support and love she receives from you, there are just some things that Bee's not going to be comfortable discussing with you. Would you be able to talk to her about cramps or bloating? I don't think so. She needs someone who can relate to what she's going through. Menstruation is no laughing matter and an improperly placed tampon can be uncomfortable, useless and potentially painful. I know this from experience, and as this being her first time, Bee really needs to be very careful. Which brings me to another dilemma: this is her first menstruation, and as someone still actively menstruating herself, you should know-"

Noah doesn't want to know. He wants her to stop talking and stop saying the word menstruation. It's freaking him out.

He's sworn to do whatever it takes to be a good parent, be everything Beth needs him to be, but he can't grow a vagina and an uterus or wherever it is the blood comes from, and oh, fuck, now his mind is full of images and _this is not good_. He can't help his daughter go through this when he has no idea what this whole menstruation shit is about, and if Beth has questions, there's a good chance he won't be able to answer them. He's never cohabited with a woman other than his mother and it's not like they sat around the dinner table and chatted about her period.

Wait. How old is his sister? Twenty? She probably has her period too, right?

He needs help.

(He is so fucked.)

"I'll call my mother," Noah decides. "I'll tell her to get her ass back from Cincinnati as soon as possible."

"Fabulous," Rachel grins. She chooses to ignore the fact that she's just shared a great deal of private information about her own menstrual cycle. She can see, though, by the utter mortification in his face, that he probably didn't need to know about her difficulties with tampons when she was a teenager herself. "I'm sure she'll provide all the assistance you'll require, as well as rest Bee assure of her bodily changes."

"I guess."

"Well, I need to be going-"

"Sure, yeah, thanks for everything." The corners of Noah's lips tug upwards and he reaches to shake her hand.

(She is _not_ feeling electricity from his touch. Nope. Not at all.)

(Just to be clear, he isn't either.)

"You're leaving already?" Bee says, disappointed, as she approaches them. She turns to her father. "Can't she come over for dinner? Please?" before he can answer, she turns back to speak to Rachel. "He's making chicken piccata tonight and he's a real good cook. Will you come?"

"Um, well…" She decides to ignore Noah's existence right now, since she's suddenly feeling too warm and she doesn't want to find out if he wants her to say yes or no. She doesn't want to find out if she wants him to say yes or no. This day has been too confusing to add it up. "I'm sorry, but I have to decline. I've only been back for a day and I promised my dads I'd cook for them tonight," Rachel smiled apologetically, feeling her heart sink low in her gut when she sees Bee's face fall.

"Whatcha making?" Noah asks genially.

"Spaghetti alla carbonara."

He smirks and arches a brow at her. "Kosher?"

She finds herself biting her lip and looking at him beneath hooded eyes. "Not in the slightest."

Noah's smirk widens and Rachel smiles as well, feeling slightly breathless. He's thinking of how she is, by far, one of the hottest woman he's ever met and how much he wants her to let him do to her all the dirty things that are currently flooding his brain. She's thinking of how she would have very little problem declining, considering she's nearly melting in his presence and they've only shaken hands.

(Bee's thinking that making these two fall for each other? Not gonna take much.)

"Well, could you maybe come over after dinner?" she pleads, turning her eyes from Rachel to her dad and back again. "I have a lot of questions about what's going on with my body."

Yes, Bee knows it's not fair, but she also knows her old man and he for sure doesn't know the first thing about menstruation. Bee could ask her grandma or even her aunt, but she's not gonna miss out on a chance to get her dad and Rachel under the same roof for some quality Jew time.

"We'll call Grams when we get home, squirt," Noah placates her. "We've bothered Rachel enough for a day."

She rolls her eyes. "She's not gonna have time to answer my questions while she bawls about how I'm growing up and all."

True. She would probably get a calendar and mark the day, too. Yenta's crazy like that.

"I don't—I don't mind," Rachel offers, glancing from father to daughter. "If that's okay by you, of course," she throws in for good measure, staring into Noah's hazel eyes.

He merely nods, because for some reason he finds talking really difficult right now.

(She's willing to help him out through what's unquestionably a milestone in parenting, one he's not entirely sure he can overcome alone. And she's doing it, even though she doesn't know him or his daughter, when other chicks would probably shrug it off and tell him to find them later for a good fuck.)

Noah watches her leave, after she says goodbye and exchanges numbers with Beth, promising she'd swing by their place around eight. He is seeing this woman beyond the abundant physical appeal, doesn't even check out her perfect ass (much). He thinks, right now, that he wouldn't half mind if Rachel Berry was a part of his life.

**Reviews are very much appreciated. Thanks for reading ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Oh. My. God. Your reviews people. I love you all and I appreciate your words so very much!**

**So the general consensus seem to be that Bee is awesome and you all love her. Good. I love her too ;)**

The Puckerman home is not exactly what she expected. She had this image in her head of a two-bedroom apartment, with messy common areas, sparsely decorated, if at all, with minimal furniture arranged around an as-many-inches-as-can-be-possible flat-screen TV. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Well, actually there were a lot of things wrong with that but she's being polite.

This house is quite beautiful. Two-story, American Foursquare style, red brick and white painted wood, full-width porch with square columns. The door and the ground level window frames were made of the same light maple-wood and it was clear by their design that they weren't part of the original house. The concrete porch stairs has large, empty flowerbeds on both sides and a swing on the far side of the porch. Upon reaching the front door, Rachel finds two holes: one where she assumes the doorbell is supposed to go, given there are red and blue wires poking out of it, and the other one in the spot where there's usually a doorknob. Vaguely, Rachel wonders how they open the door.

She's about to knock when she hears a loud bark behind her and she turns around to meet the cutest dog she's ever seen. With a short, caramel colored coat and a lean, powerful body, he's quite tall. In fact, his head might just reach Rachel's waist, and he's looking at her like she's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. His head cocks to the side, tongue hanging from his mouth as he pants loudly and his tail is up in the air, perkily swinging from one side to the other, it's clear as day that the dog is friendly.

That is, of course, until the _beast_ charges up to Rachel and buries his nose in the juncture between her thighs. She then decides she hates the dog.

She is shocked, absolutely outraged that this animal would behave so poorly. Rachel tries to brush the dog off with her hands, tries to convey her anger into her voice by shouting and ordering the dog to leave her alone. He merely growls with his nose still stuck in the apex of her thighs and corners her by the railing, making her half sit on it to maintain balance as she struggles to free herself of his assault.

She doesn't realize she's practically screaming now and her constant writhing only further encourages the dog. When he growls loudly and pushes her harder down the railing and Rachel has to dig her nails on the column as to avoid falling flat on her back on the empty flowerbed behind her, she's sure things cannot get worse.

But they do when Noah, certainly driven by the stream of _oh-fuck-get-off-you-beast-fuck-God-sit _opens the front door.

"What the hell?"

She stills, eyes bright, cheeks pink with embarrassment as she turns her attention to him. He is standing there, looking absolutely bowled over.

"Hello," she says curtly.

Words fail her then as she becomes increasingly flustered, feeling ever more helpless as the seconds drag by and this beast of an animal refuses to remove his probing nose from between her thighs.

And Noah is watching the dog. Intently. With something akin to jealousy shimmering in his eyes. She wants to scream.

"Noah?" Rachel pleads, pushing on the dog's head in vain.

He seems to snap out of it, blinking furiously and glancing up at her eyes.

"Down, Homer," he says gruffly.

The dog responds immediately to the command, moving away from her to sit in attention next to Noah and watch her.

Rachel struggles to get back on her feet, dusting her short denim skirt and forcing the blush off her cheeks and a semblance of calmness into her face. The last thing she needs is to further her embarrassment by glaring at the beast who molested her and, by extension, his owner.

"I'm really sorry about him," Noah tells her, reaching down to pat the beast at his feet. "He has a lot of energy."

"I noticed," Rachel grits out, collecting her left flip flop which had apparently flown over three feet away from her and thrusting it back on her foot.

He chuckles (_he chuckles?_) and steps away from the door, silently inviting her in. Rachel takes a big breath and follows suit, only to have Homer release a booming bark just as she steps through the door.

She's just been through a traumatic experience, okay? A dog, and a humongous one at that, attacked her not more than five minutes ago. It's not her fault if she screams and jumps, seeking protection behind the largest thing at hand. Even if that 'thing' happens to be Noah, and Rachel ends up tightly pressed against his back, her face buried between his shoulder blades, her hands fisting his shirt in his lower back.

"He's not gonna hurt you," Noah promises, and she feels the rumble of his voice vibrating under her ear.

"I'd rather not test that theory."

His hand reaches back to gently pull her next to him, but she's having none of that. She's never feared dogs. Granted, she never had one when she was a child and her neighbors only had a cute, little, _harmless_ Chihuahua. She has practically no experience with dogs and this one right here? Is making it pretty hard on her to like the species in general.

"Could you send him away, please?" Rachel pleads, venturing a glance at the dog.

She feels Noah sigh and close the door with Rachel still perched on his back.

"You're gonna have to let me go," he says, his head turning and peeking over his shoulder.

"Yes. Of course."

She releases her grip on his shirt and takes a step back. There are fresh wrinkles on the back of his tee shirt where she was just holding onto him, and she has to fight back the sudden urge to smooth them. It feels like that is some sort of line she's definitely not ready to cross (never mind the fact that she was just pressed against him, close enough for his scent to linger around her).

She promptly avoids his eyes before he calls Homer and takes him away. She's never dealt well with embarrassment, and that's not about to change right now. She feels silly, yes, and she's perfectly aware she might have overreacted a tad. The beast (_Homer_, she has to remember to call him Homer) had the chance to bite her and he never did, and didn't her neighbor's Chihuahua used to hump her leg all the time?

But the Chihuahua was easy to kick away. Homer isn't.

_Anyway…_

She takes the opportunity to look around the place. The foyer is rather large, connected to the living room, the staircase right in front of the door and a narrow hallway on the side that leads to where she believes the kitchen area is. Just like she suspected, the house was currently going under renovations. The dark hardwood floor is shiny and evidently newly installed; the walls are a muted shade of olive green with white baseboard and moldings on the ceiling. The furniture is simple and quite tasteful and she wonders if interior design is another of Noah Puckerman's talents. There is a large flat-screen TV mounted on the living room wall (typical), with a fully tricked out entertainment system (again, typical) and a built-in bookcase filled with DVDs, CDs and pictures.

Curiosity about the many framed pictures have her unconsciously take steps further into the room. A smile creeps up her face when she sees the snapshots of the Puckermans' life – a much younger Noah holding baby Bee over his head like she was flying; a middle-aged woman she recognizes as Noah's mother, attempting to scowl at the camera with Noah and a brunette teenage girl (his sister, most likely; Rachel hasn't seen the girl since she was a toddler) making faces at her and poking her on the side; Bee, missing her two front teeth and with chocolate ice cream smeared all over her face; Bee, reciting the Torah in her Bat Mitzvah; Noah, with Beth perched on his shoulder and his mother and sister on both sides of him, holding a diploma at his college graduation. One picture in particular catches her attention: it is a group photo of ten teens, six guys wearing identical black suits with golden ties and four girls in black dresses with golden lace and ribbons, all beaming and standing around a full-sized trophy, the words 'Show Choir National Winner 1999' in a banner above their heads. She never would've pegged him for the show choir type, but there he was, smirking at the camera with his teammates, amongst who she recognizes her realtor Mercedes.

"Beth was walking Homer. He probably ran off again," Noah says as he walks back into the room. "She just texted me, she's on her way."

She turns around to face him and realizes all too late that she is _actually _holding the frame. When did that happen?

He smirks and his left brow shoots up. She knows he knows she's dying to ask. She thinks maybe he wouldn't mind if she did.

"Show choir?" she smiles, putting the frame back in its place.

"Shut up. We were the shit." His smirk actually grows into a full-fledged grin, fondly remembering his time in glee club. "Six consecutive times national champs and a grand total of eleven wins in the past twenty years. We're local legends, babe," Noah says, his chest swelling with pride. "Good times. We still get together and jam."

"Sounds like fun."

Rachel loves music. Her biggest moments, the ones she can pinpoint and say with all honesty she was happy, were when she was on stage, singing her heart out. She even got the chance to record a few songs with Broadway legends like Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth for no real purpose other than to see how their voices blended together and have a good time doing it. She understands what it's like to find happiness through song.

She also dies a little bit she every time she remembers she can't ever feel that way again. Now she's permanently off-key and missing notes she was hitting by the time she was three months old. Everything else remains though - the way she only has to listen to a song once before she can play it again instantly, the way she still recognizes all and every notes in any given sound, song or not, and finds music and harmonies everywhere she goes.

She ignores it. It hurts a little less that way.

"You want something to drink?" Noah offers.

She nods and follows him to the kitchen, conjuring her remarkable acting skills to hide the blush she gets when she remembers how firm his back felt when she held onto him mere minutes ago.

He leads her through the hallway and across a small, dark and otherwise unused dining room, if the absolute lack of furniture was any indication.

"The dishwasher died a couple of days ago, so don't mind the mess," he tells her as he struts into the kitchen, jumps over the mess that was apparently the dishwasher and yanks open the fridge.

If the dishwasher was dead, as he so eloquently put it, then she thinks it's safe to say it's quite dissected right now. It was sufficiently taken apart in the middle of the kitchen, dish racks and rollers, hoses and valves, a tin toolbox wide open with bolts and nuts, wrenches, screwdrivers other kind of tools she's not familiar with spread all over the immediate working area. But that's not it.

The kitchen? Well, if the rough concrete floor and the blatant lack of cabinet doors told her anything, it was that it was a work in progress.

It was big enough, though. A little on the narrow side, but quite long and connected to a laundry room. There were granite countertops on both sides of the door, a stove on one side and the dismantled dishwasher and sink on the other, with a table seating four at one end of the room. A large window overlooks the back yard and a huge stainless steel fridge opposite the table. The expanse of the counter on the right side, between the sink and the wall, was piled to the extreme with clean dishes, glasses, mugs, pots, pans and every other utensil she could name while the microwave, toaster and coffee pot were lined up on the other side. The walls weren't painted or wallpapered and the back door was still missing the doorknob.

"I got water, orange juice, beer," he says, his head stuck inside the fridge as Rachel stands awkwardly next to the toolbox.

"Water is fine." She takes the bottle he hands her. "You have a lovely home. Have you lived here for long?"

"A couple of years," he shrugs. "I started the reno two seconds after we moved in; got the roof and the porch re-done in record time, then the living room and Beth's bedroom in between jobs. I haven't really had the time to finish the kitchen, the upstairs rooms and other little details. The only other contractor in town had to flee the state when they found out he sold home-made bombs to activists on eBay, so my business is top dog now. It's a work in progress, but hopefully I can at least finish the master bedroom before the summer is over."

Of course the master bedroom comes first on his priority list, before this pigpen kitchen of his. Bear with him, there is no wall between his bedroom and the master bath and there is a hole in his ceiling straight into the attic. The hole was actually part of his idea to turn the attic into a proper 'guy room' but whatever, shit got seriously drafty during the winter, okay?

"My dads never let me decorate my room when I was younger," Rachel says, unscrewing the bottle cap. "They insisted they were well acquainted with the Ikea catalog and that the responsibility of creating a color palette that expressed who I was at that stage of my life was not something to be taken lightly, much less within what a fifteen year-old girl was actually capable of doing."

"That sucks," he states blankly.

She laughs, unexpectedly, but she welcomes it regardless. It's been a while.

"Does Bee help you decorate?"

"Are you kidding? I can't get anything done in this house that isn't okayed by her first."

Rachel giggles. She can't help but find the idea of this big, strong, incredibly masculine man being absolutely dominated by a thirteen year-old girl completely charming.

"She's a great girl," she smiles, leaning against the countertop.

She feels the air shift between them. It is no longer relaxed or playful.

She is curious as to how Beth came into this world, why her mother isn't part of her life, how Noah managed to cope with being a teenage single dad. She doesn't want to ask, she feels maybe it's not her place, but she still wants to know. She never really thought about the life she left behind since she went to New York, mainly because she considered her life actually started the day the Big Apple welcomed her as one of its own. But she did wonder what had become of the people she knew, and Noah, being her first crush ever, well… she never quite stopped thinking about him.

"We were sixteen," he says, his voice dropping an octave, his hands deep in his pockets. "Quinn and I…we weren't even a real couple."

"Quinn?"

"Quinn Fabray. You knew her," Noah looks at her pointedly.

Yes, she did. She was the angelic-looking blonde who used to ridicule her in middle school for having two gay dads. What did she call her? Oh yes – _freak._

"She was drunk and felt fat, I was bored and horny," he explains with a shrug. "She didn't want me after that, left school when she couldn't hide her belly anymore. I'd go to her house everyday but her dad never let me in. I only got to see Beth when she was born because Quinn wanted to give her away and the adoption agency needed me to sign the papers."

"But you didn't."

He shook his head. "How could I? I wasn't even allowed to hold her and I loved her already. I couldn't just let two strangers take my daughter from me."

"They fought me every step of the way. Quinn, her parents, the agency. They took me to court, tried to get custody by proving I wasn't capable of providing for my own daughter. I had child services on my back till I turned eighteen. Quinn and her family moved away a couple of months after Beth was born, so at least I didn't have to run into them and hold back whenever the words 'bastard child' came out of their fucking mouths, which was pretty much all the time."

He sighs tiredly and she has the inexplicable urge to hug him. She's attracted to him, yes, but it feels more than that right now, watching the pain of his teenage years course his features.

"Well, you proved them wrong, all of them, didn't you?" she smiles reassuringly, her stomach doing somersaults when his eyes find hers in a silent but obvious question. "You prove them wrong every day."

She shouldn't feel guilty for not being there for Noah when he needed someone to believe in him. Her secret crush and the few stolen moments before she left Lima, when he apologized constantly and teased her for baking him 'apology accepted' cookies, they don't mean they were friends or anything like that. She can't even be sure that, had she stayed, they would have become anything more than friendly acquaintances.

And he made it, he really did. He proved them wrong. Sixteen year-old Noah might've been scared and angry and underappreciated, but he's standing right now in front of her, and he's not that boy anymore. He doesn't need her sympathy.

(She _still_ wants to comfort him.)

"I'm home!"

He gives her a look and she understands the conversation is effectively over now that Beth is within earshot. It's clear as water that Quinn Fabray and her departure from their life is a sore subject.

Rachel has a lot of fun that night. She clears all and any doubts Bee has about menstruation and her initiation into womanhood with, surprisingly, Noah's assistance. Despite being so evidently uncomfortable (he kept blushing. It was _adorable_), he had actually logged in some serious time researching the subject to make sure he could help his daughter transition smoothly to the next stage of her life.

They end up watching a movie and eating ice cream. Bee asks her why she's back in Lima, and Rachel tells her she just wanted to come back home. She's lying but she doesn't particularly want to get into the real reason of her early departure from Broadway. Even when both Bee and Noah don't seem to buy her story.

Noah walks her home that night, after Bee promptly decided that Rachel was unfit to walk one mile alone. He asks about what she's planning to do now she's back and she tells her about the little dance studio she's opening in the next couple of weeks.

He thanks her when they reach her parent's house and tells her he doesn't know what he would've done without her help. He looks so adorable right now, his hands deep in his pockets and looking so thoroughly embarrassed, she thinks she could kiss him.

She shouldn't want to kiss a man she just met (again), regardless if she had more or less known him since they were children. And he has a daughter, one whom she spent the last couple of hours with, explaining in detail what bodily changes she could expect now that she's menstruating. It'd be complicated. Messy. And he's probably not even interested in her in the way she is in him.

She doesn't kiss him.

(She lays awake at night, wondering why she just _wants to_ so much.)

Ooo

Rachel's fathers never fight. Well, they do, but it's generally just about domestic nonsense, like forgetting to add some item to the shopping list or whose turn it is to clean the bathroom. Whatever marital problems they had, they solved them privately, away from their daughter's ears. She only remembers a handful of serious discussions between them from her teenage years, and that's only because, besides witnessing them, she was the center of them. Her Daddy, being the sensible man he is, would insist Rachel needed to consider the possibility that she wasn't going to make it on Broadway and that she should have something to fall back on. A back up plan, he called it. Her Dad, on the other hand, would roll his eyes and maintain Rachel was too talented not to make it big. Needles to say, she appreciates her Dad's unwavering faith but she's ultimately glad she listened to her Daddy as well.

She was never one to indulge in frivolous shopping or extravagant expenses, so she saved most of the money she received from starring in plays. She's not rich, mind you, but she's well-off and has no pressing need to find a job immediately. But Rachel's character is far from idle, so in the months before she returned to Lima, after her vocal paralysis was diagnosed, she laid out a new life plan.

She likes teaching, so aside from graduating as a triple threat from Julliard, she got a PhD in education online. Not ideal, yes, but it's just as valid. Her Julliard diploma is enough credentials of her proficiency as a dancer as it is. A little dance studio sounds just about perfect for her.

Right after her doctors determine it is impossible for her to sing again, she calls her dads and sets her new plan in action. She's moving back to Lima in three months and on the meantime, she needs them to find her the perfect place for her studio and prepare it for her, while she gets her tax ID number, files for her business license online and other permits necessary. Once they find a place, they email pictures and videos so she can give them the okay and see for herself what changes need to be done. They hire a construction company and they do all the handiwork she requested according to her precise specifications. After everything is perfect, she gets an insurance liability policy and she's almost ready to start to work.

Except the City of Lima refuses to give her a business license until she meets with the city clerk face-to-face. So now she's waiting on a bench in the lobby outside the clerk's office watching the distinctive drama of public service employees unfold. Aside from the clerk's office, there are four other offices, all with the doors opened and with the employees coming and going, stopping on occasion to refill their coffee mugs, or to speak to the receptionist, doing a little chit-chat with their co-workers, gossiping frivolously.

She grows amused by the stories she hears, but she's grateful when the clerk's assistant tells her Ms. Abrams will see her now. Thanking her, Rachel marches to the closed double doors of the office and knocks softly twice. She walks in after she hears the words "Come in".

The office is quite what she expected. Light yellow walls matching those of the lobby, a giant bookcase messily filled to the brim behind the desk, official-looking certificates hanging from the wall, two dark velvet armchairs in front of the hardwood desk and various personal items such as family pictures and bobble heads on top of it, a filling cabinet under the window and a plant over it.

The city clerk, on the contrary, is nothing like Rachel expected.

"I'd take the trouble to look professional but I stopped caring about that around the time I became a walking, breathing sea cow. Have a seat."

Rachel approached the desk and sat in one of the two available chairs, stunned to silence by the figure of authority before her. The woman was about her age, deeply tanned with dark eyes and dark hair. She was comfortably leaned back on her chair, her feet bare and propped up on her desk next to her bright fuchsia laptop, the little buttons of her white shirt undone from the waist down to give more room to her expanded pregnant belly.

"By all means, stare," Ms. Abrams sneers. "It thrills me when people do that."

"Oh!" Rachel jumps slightly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Please, I know what people think when they look at me," she shakes her head, looking hurt. "I'm _so_ fat."

She pinches the bridge of her nose and lets out a sob. Rachel panics. "You look beautiful!" she assures her.

"I used to be so hot, you know? Everywhere I went, men _and_ women wanted to butter my muffin," she pouts, taking a tissue off her drawer and blowing her nose. "And I was so ridiculously happy when I got pregnant. I took a picture of the pregnancy test, framed it and convinced the janitor of the school my husband works at to stick it in the lounge's notice board when he wasn't looking under the words '**Abrams' Sperm CAN Swim**'. We had such wild, dirty sex that night."

The clerk sighs dreamily, ignoring Rachel's discomfort. Then she starts crying again. "I can't take it anymore! I'm so tired all the time, and the babies won't stop kicking me! I hate them!" she bawls hysterically, then she leans over her belly with some difficulty and talks directly to her belly button like it's a speaker. "Stop making my life so miserable! Please come out already!"

Rachel lets her cry until she calms down. Her experience with pregnant women is nonexistent and she's loathe to let her personal mortification upset Ms. Abrams any further, so she just sits quietly until the clerk's sobs stop and she runs out of tears.

Ms. Abrams sighs. "I'm sorry," she apologizes, regaining a semblance of professionalism and thrusting her hand out to shake Rachel's. "I'm Santana Abrams and I'm hormonal," she jokes and Rachel chuckles a little uncomfortably. "What brings you here?"

They discuss Rachel's request for a business license with very few incidents ("A dance studio? That sounds awesome. I used to dance. You know, _before you ruined my life!_" "Sorry?" "I'm talking to the babies.") and after she checked all the paperwork and reviewed Rachel's business plan, Santana issues the license. Rachel then files a Fictitious Business Name Statement and gives her credit card information to the secretary to pay the filing fee.

Despite her discomfort, Ms. Abrams gets up from her chair and walks Rachel to the door. Before she leaves, the clerk hugs her.

Feeling the awkwardness she's become familiar with in the past hour return, Rachel pats her back, the rounded belly pressing against her.

"Thank you for listening to me," Ms. Abrams tells her sincerely. "Most people just bolt straight out the door when I get all crazy." She smiles apologetically and Rachel can't help to smile back. "I hope I didn't make you too uncomfortable, and despite everything I said, I do love my babies."

Rachel chuckles. "I have to admit I got a little worried when you stuck your head under your shirt and yelled at them to stop kicking each other," she jokes.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Rachel," Santana grins.

"Likewise, Ms. Abrams."

She rolls her eyes. "Call me Santana. This is a small town and I need a new friend, so I'll be calling you soon to have lunch or something," she informs Rachel.

"Okay," she beams. "Let me give you my number."

"No need. I work at City Hall, I can get that kind of information in a snap," Santana says blandly, and Rachel can't help feeling a little uneasy.

She has lunch with Mercedes again and they spend more time talking about nothing and everything instead of discussing the apartments that Rachel might be interested in. Mercedes shows her pictures of her kids, four-year-old Tyler and eighteen-month-old Mischa, and Rachel tells her what it was like living in London and New York. The meeting feels too much like just hanging out with a friend, and Rachel pleasantly finds she likes it.

Her life in Lima is shaping out to be pretty good. She can start working doing something she loves, has two potential friends and a young girl who she feels she's not seen the last of, though she's not entirely sure why. It's like a connection, ever-present in the back of her mind, and she's scared, because she doesn't know what it means, but Rachel feels something good might come out of it.

She hasn't decided yet what exactly Noah Puckerman's place is in this new _good_ life of hers. Ideally, well…she'd like to explore all possibilities.

Indeed, she would.

Ooo

She sees him again on her first day as a dance teacher. Beth signed up for her beginners' class and he's dropping her off.

She thinks it's for the better if she has a few words with her student's parents to assuage whatever doubts they might have regarding the classes. She's already told Mrs. Clark that her daughter Millie's weight isn't an issue, that she's not forcing any kind of diet on her girls, and that exercise is important on a girl of her age. Regardless, she also said that a nutritionist could be helpful if Mrs. Clark thought Millie's eating habits weren't covering the needs of a developing pre-teen. Georgia Stone's mother warned Rachel of the girl's bad temper and relatively short fuse. Rachel assured her they wouldn't have any problems but was left slightly unsettled when Mrs. Stone suggested she take any and all sharp objects out of her daughter's reach.

When she sees his truck pull over, she pretends her heart doesn't skip approximately three beats and ignores the little butterflies in her stomach.

She turns her back to the door and pretends to be busy with a stack of paperwork on the front desk, not really paying any attention to it and closely listening to their approaching voices. She doesn't know what they're talking about, but it sounds quite animated and they are laughing together right as they come in through the glass door.

"…and Jacob kept saying it was because he was lactose intolerant. Then he threw up on the civil engineer," Noah laughs. "He was still talking to an imaginary squirrel when the ambulance took him away. Told him to keep his hard hat on at all times."

"Hi Rachel!" Bee runs towards he and hugs her tightly.

"Hello there," she laughs. "Hi Noah."

"Hey."

They lock eyes, distantly noticing Bee letting go of Rachel and going into the room to find her friends.

He takes a few steps closer to her, nodding toward the door his daughter just disappear behind. "Scared?" he smirks.

She bites her lip. "Very much."

He shrugs one shoulder, leaning against the desk next to her. "You'll be fine. If they turn on you, play dead."

Rachel lets out a heartily laugh, unconsciously stepping closer to him. "I'll keep that in mind."

His eyes dart down, studiously taking in her black leotard and red chiffon wrap skirt. His long fingers close around the little bow holding her skirt in place, tugging slightly. "S'hot," he says huskily, his eyes a dark shade of green.

She sighs brokenly, holding onto the remnants of her sanity. She has children in the other room, his daughter among them. She cannot let this happen right now.

"I need to get the class started," she speaks the words, but Rachel doesn't recognize the voice as her own. It comes from the back of her throat, and sounds too breathy and too wanton. And he hasn't even touched her. He shouldn't be able to make her feel this way with so little effort.

"Right." She likes to think he sounds just as affected as she is, but she can't be certain. She's too busy staring at his eyes.

He sighs and steps away, rubbing the back of his head. "Beth's staying over Nina Walsh's so her mom is picking them up," he tells her, only meeting her eyes when he's by the door on his way out.

"Okay."

"See ya later," Noah winks at her and leaves.

It sounds like a promise. She hopes it is.

Ooo

He should not be this turned on by his daughter's dance teacher.

Beth conveniently forgot her cell phone behind in class and Noah was already on his way home after work when she called him and asked him if he could pick it up for her. So he did.

The sign on the door says CLOSED in bold black letters, but it's not locked. Of course, he only knows this because no one answers after he knocks twice and pushes the door open. He's instantly pissed. Lima is a small town and relatively safe, but that's no reason to be stupid.

He hears music as he walks in the studio, and sees light coming from the front room. He's heard the soundtrack of Beauty and The Beast enough times to recognize her voice.

She's dancing to the sound of herself singing about taking chances, her eyes tightly shut. That's the only reason she doesn't catch him following her every move, completely entranced, his mouth dry.

He's known she was hot since they met. Her level of hotness escalated off the charts a couple of weeks ago when he first saw her wearing a leotard and that short as fuck chiffon skirt thingy. But this, the way she looks right now, her feet bare and wearing tight capri pants and a red top, her hair in wild disarray, dancing like she's in front of an audience, it's just…beautiful.

He claps when the song dies and she finishes her routine, because honestly she deserves it and he feels like he's fucking privileged or something to see her dancing like that. Girl knows what she's doing, okay?

(He's storing all those flips and the visual of her leg over her head in the spank back. She's been on the rotation pretty much on a regular basis lately, and that's not changing anytime soon. Unless he, you know, fucks her. Which he wants to. So, so badly.)

She jumps a little and her eyes snap open, suddenly scared as she zeroes in on him. He hates himself for frightening her, so he smiles apologetically and steps closer.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."

She smiles shakily. "That's okay."

"You were great," he admits, his feet narrowing the distance between them.

"Thank you," she says humbly and bows her head down. "How did you get in here?"

"Your door was open. You should really be more careful with that," he suggests, tracing the gentle curve of her neck and collarbone with his eyes.

"Oh! I will," Rachel promises, fidgeting with the hem of her top watching him stare at her. "Noah?"

"Hmm?"

"Is there a particular reason for you being here right now?"

"Yeah. Right," he frowns, trying to remember. "Beth left her phone."

"Let's find it then," she turns around and smiles at him over the shoulder.

Honestly, they've been doing this for the past few weeks. They flirt (harmlessly…fuck his life) and they acknowledge each other's blatant hotness. She's more subtle than him of course, she doesn't invade his personal space even though he recognizes the desire in her eyes. He sees it in his eyes every time when he looks in the mirror. She wants him as much as he wants her.

But nothing happens. Mostly because Noah keeps finding reasons not to.

Like how he doesn't know how to do relationships and Rachel is not the kind of girl you fuck and chuck.

(She's more than that. So much more.)

Like how he has a daughter to think of, and she comes first.

(Beth loves Rachel. He'd be jealous if he didn't like it so much.)

Like how Rachel doesn't belong to Lima. She's a Broadway star and it's only a matter of time before she gets out of whatever funk brought her back to Ohio in the first place, realizes (again) that she's too good for this town and decides to leave (again).

(He doesn't want to think about that.)

But really, the only valid reason that holds him back from making a move on her is that (shockingly) he's scared. The one and only time he tried to have serious relationship with a girl (woman, whatever), he put his heart on the line and the poor fucker got stomped all over. Quinn Fabray left a 'Lima Loser'-shaped dent on his self-esteem, and he doesn't know how to fix that.

He speed dials Beth's number and Pink starts singing from the other side of the room behind the desk with Rachel's iHome.

"How'd get there?" he wonders out loud, following Rachel to retrieve the missing phone.

She shrugs. "She was going over my vast music selection before class, she must've dropped it."

Rachel leans down and reaches behind the table, granting Noah a stellar view of her (perfect) ass. Her pants are practically painted on her, resting low in her hips. Her top hikes up, revealing the smooth expanse of tanned skin of her lower back.

He wants to touch her _so bad_.

"Here," she turns and hands over Beth's sparkly purple phone, her hand running through her brown locks, working loose the knots she found.

(She's been waiting, wishing for him to make a move for weeks now. She knows it's complicated because he has a daughter and he's worried something bad would come out this, whatever it is or possibly could be. Rachel doesn't want to hurt anybody. She wants him. Simple as that.

She's seen the way he looks at her, like he wants to do ungodly –_wonderful_- things too her. And she knows he's holding back on purpose. She wants him to stop thinking so hard and just let go.)

It only takes a fraction of a second. First, he's shoving Beth's phone in the pocket of his cargo pants and then he just thinks, _fuck it_, and charges into her.

Maybe he should go slower, gentler, but the little gasp of surprise she lets out does nothing to discourage him from ravishing her lips. He's been jerking off pretending it's her hand around his cock for the past however many weeks so _excuse_ the fuck out of him if he's a little too excited about finally tasting her.

She clings to his neck, pressing her chest to his, a quiet moan coming from the back of her throat as his tongue traces her lips asking for entrance. She opens for him, and it's his turn to moan, making her smile into the kiss. On her back, his hands pull up her top, rubbing slow circles on her skin, fingers dipping slightly under the waistline of her pants. She kisses the corner of his mouth, his jaw, behind his ear, sucks the lobe and trails wet open-mouthed kisses down his neck.

He backs her against the mirrored wall, one hand gripping her hip and the other under her top making its way up across her taut stomach to trace idle patterns right under her bra.

Rachel is tempted to ask him if he locked the door, but she doesn't want to break the spell. She can feel him hardening against her stomach, arches into his hand when he cups her breast through her sports bra and gasps. He takes the opportunity to leisurely explore her mouth while rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She stands on her toes, pushing her center closer to him, rubbing against his thigh. He smirks, bites her bottom lip and locks eyes with her, his fingers now tugging resolutely on her pants.

Pink starts singing again and Noah decides that 'Trouble' is now his least favorite song. He growls, which makes Rachel laugh, which only further kills the mood when she gently pushes him off her. Her eyes are darker than he's ever seen before and there's a very attractive blush expanding from her cheeks down her neck to her chest (fuck, he wants to follow that blush all the way down). He wants to fucking destroy the fucking phone for cockblocking him. Here he is, on the highway to happiness inside Rachel Berry's pants and he has to fucking stop and answer his daughter's phone. Whoever the fuck invented these things didn't have a sex life and didn't want anyone else to fuck at any given time. Fucker.

"What?" he barks. Rachel buries her face in his chest, smothering her giggles. She hates the fact that they've been interrupted as much as he does, but his reaction is hilarious.

"Who the fuck are you and why are you calling my daughter?" he frowns. "Jim _who_?" he seethes while Rachel mouths a quiet _'What's going on?'_ "You what? Over _your_ dead fucking body! You listen to me and you listen to me _good_: if I so much as see you within a hundred feet of my daughter, I got a Winchester and a shovel, and _I. Will. Find. You._ Got it?"

He flips the phone closed, sighs and rests his forehead against hers. Her arms come around his neck again, holding him closer.

"I take it that was a boy interested in Bee?" she asks quietly and he nods.

"He wanted to take her to the movies, where it's dark and quiet and hands go where they're not supposed to. I'm not gonna let some kid take advantage of my little girl, Rach," Noah says resolute.

"I don't think Bee would let that happen," Rachel assures him. "Just last week I overheard her and the girls talking about how for all intents and purposes, perfume is just as good as pepper spray."

"I'd rather she didn't have to put that to test," he sighs and takes one step back. "I need to get back home."

She nods, doing her best to hide her disappointment. He's right, of course. Beth is home alone, he can't stay here with her messing around no matter how much both of them want to. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

She bites her lip containing her beam. "Nothing planned. Do you have something in mind?"

He smirks and leans down to kiss her again. "I'll pick you up at 8. Cool?"

She nods again, holding his hand as she (slowly) leads him to the front door. "Are you going to tell Beth about that boy who called?"

"Nah," he shrugs. "He sounded sufficiently scared off. He'll make sure every kid with a dick knows Beth is off limits, so I don't think I have anything to worry for now. When she finds out I'm cockblocking all them kids, she'll probably have a fit but whatever."

She laughs. "Every girl needs to have a first crush, Noah."

"Yeah?" he smirks, pressing her against the closed door. "Who was your first crush?"

Her cheeks turn a deep shade of red and she averts her eyes from his gaze. "Bee's waiting for you, you should go now," she quickly changes the subject.

He chuckles. "C'mon, tell me. Do I know him?"

"I'm not going to tell you," she fights back her smile. She cannot tell Noah he was her first crush. That is out of the question. "Now go," she says sternly, tilting her chin at him.

"Fine," he rolls his eyes playfully, kisses her chastely on the lips and the tip of her nose. "I'll see you tomorrow," he waggles his eyebrows suggestively and marches out of the studio.

He has a pretty good guess of who her first crush was.

**Pretty please review! Your comments mean the world to me.**


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm terribly sorry I took so long to get this one out.**** Real life insists on demanding time and there are several plot bunnies running rampant on my poor, cluttered brain. Plus my cat was attacked by my neighbor's and he was pretty bad for a while. He's okay now but he scared the hell outta me.**

**Lor, you are amazing and this would suck without you. I cannot say this enough. **

Noah Puckerman does not date. He never has. He likes women – likes _fucking_ women, more precisely, and gets around to it as often as he can. It doesn't really take much. Just a drink, a wink, a filthy suggestion whispered in her ear and, if he's feeling generous, he'll actually listen to whatever the chick is saying for precisely eight uninterrupted minutes before his hand finds her ass and he suggests they go to somewhere more private (always her place, never his. Like he'll let the skanks he fucks anywhere near his daughter).

So he doesn't date. Doesn't know _how_. But he has to make an effort and learn, fast, because he doesn't want to (only) fuck Rachel. He likes her; like, he's not entirely (at all) opposed to the idea of seeing her regularly, talking to her, actually getting to know her. So, he resorts to desperate measures.

He asks for advice. Don't tell him he's not mature and shit.

It's a no brainer who he should go to. Kurt is as gay as the day is long, as Mr. Hummel so fondly says, so that's a big fat no. Finn is happily married to a great chick, but let's be honest here: if Brittany's IQ was any fucking lower, they'd have to water her. Plus, whatever logic his boy Finn used to convince Britt to get hitched on their lunch break on a Tuesday without telling anyone because it'd be a great April's Fool joke, Noah doesn't think would work with Rachel.

(Not that he wants to marry Rachel. God, no. The idea of dating is already making him break a sweat, committing to spend the rest of his life with the same chick regardless how hot and awesome said chick is? He's not fucking ready for that.)

Matt's pretty cool, too, but he doesn't say much. Anyway, Noah already knows how Shaft and Aretha came to be the power couple they are today. It's a cute story, but he sure as hell is not going to write Rachel one hundred and fifteen letters telling her how he feels about her, one for every day she refuses to date him, writing the words he just can't say out loud because his fucking man card would be revoked if he did. He's too much of a stud to do that. Plus, Rachel already agreed to go out with him. That shit doesn't apply in his case. And Mike is a self-proclaimed bachelor; he's dated a couple of chicks but none that stick around for long, and word is he has a on-again, off-again, secret Asian affair with Tina. Noah actually wants this thing with Rachel to last and he doesn't want to have to run around town, ducking in doorways, to hide it.

His only chance is Artie. And he fucking hates it.

"So you've come to me for help," his wheelchair-bound friend says, pushing his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. "Interesting."

"Yeah," Noah mumbles.

"Why?" Artie asks, amused. "I was under the impression you didn't have trouble pleasing the ladies. What was that name you used to call yourself back in high school? Sex Shark?"

"Uh-huh," he grits out.

"And what was it you'd say would happen if the Sex Shark ever stopped moving?"

"I really hate you right now."

"I know you do," Artie chuckles darkly. "But this is highly entertaining."

"You're not gonna make this easy on me, are you?"

"No," Artie smirks. "Before we get into your pathological lack of ability at forming healthy, lasting romantic relationships, I'd like to take a trip down memory lane. I seem to recall several times during the last two decades when you've not only made snide remarks intended to undermine my sense of manhood, but questioned my sexual skills as well, even after I repeatedly assured you my penis works perfectly."

"Those were jokes, man! You know I didn't mean it!" Noah practically shouts.

"I was deeply, _deeply_ hurt," he replies mildly, features blank.

"Bullshit."

Artie simply stares at him, threading his hands together over his lap as he sits back on his wheelchair, watching Noah grow uncomfortable under his admittedly disturbingly calculating gaze. Noah is trying to stay firm in his resolve not to crawl and beg forgiveness for his (admittedly) numerous jibes at Artie's expense but the other man's evil mastermind-like countenance is actually making him sweat. Minutes tick by, the house's cryptic silence and the distant noise of a dog barking down the street doing absolutely nothing to break the tension between the two friends.

But fuck, he really needs Artie's help. Dude managed to get Santana Lopez, the town's bicycle, off the market and into an honest, legit and _happy _relationship, which considering her flexible morals, distinct promiscuity and tainted reputation was an incredible feat. Especially for a guy who was the epitome of cryptic and whose horizontal tango was shrouded in mystery. Still waters must run really, really deep. Artie had actually managed to bring out on San's romantic, non-murdery feelings, digging up the bubbly, giggly, perky bitch she had long ago buried in the depths of her cold, black heart. Now, Santana was still a fucking bitch to pretty much everyone, but for Artie, (_because of_ Artie) she was a happily married, mother-to-be bitch. It was really fucking amazing how those two worked. Dude was a gimpy miracle worker.

"Fine," Noah finally manages. "What the fuck's it gonna take for you to stop being an ass and help me out?"

"An apology would be nice."

A tiny smirk appears on Noah's face. "Sorry you're such an easy target to pick on, dude. I'll be sure to remember your pussy sensitivities next time I'm cracking a joke."

"That's all I ask." Artie nods solemnly. "Now, let's get down to business. You want to actually date this woman, correct?"

"Yeah."

"How long have you known her?"

"Six weeks, give or take." He shrugs, not really wanting to get into the whole 'I knew her from temple when we were kids, but then this one time, I accidentally gave her a slushie shower and she baked me apology accepted cookies and then she went off to be a star in New York but now she's back' recap of his relationship with Rachel. He'd like to get the hell out of this house before Santana comes home from work because, and he can't say this enough, she's a crazy, hormonal bitch who finds pleasure in causing him pain. He also has it on good authority that she kicks puppies.

"And you have not had sex with this woman yet?" Artie asks, completely baffled.

"Ok, A, her name is Rachel, and B, that's none of your fucking business." His scowl is met by Artie's unimpressed stare. "But, no, we haven't," he finally concedes. Hell, even Noah himself can agree that him liking a chick and not fucking her within two hours of meeting her is unheard of.

"And your interest in her lays in what exactly?" Artie quirks an eyebrow.

Noah sighs, an unwilling smile creeping up his face as he shakes his head a little. "I dunno, man. I just… I _like_ her." He grins, staring off the distance. "She's amazing."

"Alright." Artie claps his hands resolutely. "That's all the information I needed. Let's do this, Puckerman."

Ooo

Their first date goes without a hitch. They have dinner on the terrace of this nice lakeside Italian place courtesy of Artie, who vehemently shot down Noah's initial restaurant choice (Whatever; Breadstix is awesome), and take a long walk down the wharf under the moonlight. It gets chilly soon and given that he didn't have a jacket, his only option of warming Rachel up is wrapping one of his arm around her shoulders and tucking her against his side (that shit? Totally on purpose and all part of the Puckerone game).

She blushes when he tells dirty jokes or makes some sort of 'inappropriate' innuendo, and snuggles closer when she makes him laugh. They talk a lot about life and school and things that don't really matter. She wants to know everything about his high school Glee club, so he tells her about his friends and their performances and the competitions they had to go to. He asks about Broadway and how come she's not there anymore blinding everybody with her talent and Rachel doesn't really feel that she is lying when she tells him she was lonely and tired (she avoids mentioning her medical condition. They've been having such an amazing date, she doesn't want to put a damper on it by bringing it up).

The date ends with him kissing her under the moonlight, trapping her against the railing as they leisurely explore each other's mouths.

He drives her to her dads after midnight and walks her to the door. She should not be this turned on by a few kisses with the stars twinkling above them, but that very night, when there's nothing she can do to assuage the throbbing heat low in her belly from the mere thought of him, she decides she absolutely needs to find her own place to live. She wants to be able to invite him over the next time they go out. Having her dads sleeping at the other end of the hallway is not the most ideal scenario.

Ooo

The next morning when she's enjoying a little alone time after her dads leave for the country club, the doorbell rings. She's not expecting anyone and is immediately annoyed. It's 9 a.m. and she's only wearing a raggedy Indians tee shirt and old red cotton shorts she's had since she was 13. Her hair is a mess, no makeup whatsoever, not to mention she hasn't had her morning cup of green tea yet. Who in the world would be calling this early anyway? She makes her way to the door, grumbling under her breath about how this unexpected and unwanted visit was clearly cutting into the precious time she had allotted to thinking over (she hesitates to call it 'mooning') her date with Noah and him in general. Her aggravation, however, disappears when she opens the door and Beth's blinding smile greets her.

"Bee!" Rachel opens her arms to receive Bee's trademark spider monkey hug and kisses the top of her dark head when the girl wraps her arms around her waist. "What a lovely surprise! What brings you here this morning?"

Bee takes one step back, holding Rachel's hand between hers. "It's, like, an emergency. I need your help, Rach," she says solemnly.

"Of course, come on in" she nods at once, frowning a little. "What do you need?"

"I have a soccer game this afternoon," Bee begins explaining. "And it's Nina's birthday. The girls and I were planning to have a surprise picnic after we win. I promised I'd bring cookies."

"And you need help with the cookies?"

Bee smirks. "Exactly. Not that I can't bake, mind you," she clarifies flippantly. "But dad's taken over the kitchen and the oven, as well as the rest of the appliances, is unavailable until further notice. I got my baking stuff though," she lifts a brown paper bag Rachel hadn't noticed from the floor next to her.

"What is your dad doing in the kitchen?" Rachel asks as she walks back into the kitchen, Bee trailing behind. She gets the steaming kettle of water off the stove and pours herself a cup of tea, reaching for another cup for Bee.

"He got up at 5 a.m. and rammed into the dishwasher till it started working again. Then he went to Home Depot and got this really awesome black and grey striped wallpaper and a bunch of drywall and stuff for his bedroom. When I left, he was laying the kitchen floor and blasting Billy Joel. I know him. He goes all Bob the Builder when he's anxious or frustrated or whatever," she says cryptically, eyeing Rachel as the older woman tried to remain cool as she sweetened her tea with honey. "You wouldn't happen to know what's going on that thick head of his would you?"

"Me? No. Not at all. Why would I?" Rachel replies quickly in one breath. She looks at Bee's all-too-knowing face and pastes on a smile. "Hey, how about those cookies?"

Thing is, she and Noah haven't exactly talked about having full disclosure with Beth concerning their dating status (not that they're serious enough to have had the DTR talk yet, but she feels confident that they are, at the very least, 'casually seeing each other'). She doesn't want to get ahead of herself, but she knows Bee likes her and she doesn't think that'd change if she were to know Rachel and Noah are more involved than she suspects (though there is that voice in the back of her mind that insists Bee's not only aware but also quite invested on Rachel dating her father).

"Okay." Bee smirks, rummaging through the drawers looking for a whisk.

The day progresses in a way she had not foreseen when she woke up but ultimately Rachel is quite happy with the outcome. She and Beth spend the rest of the morning baking and chatting amicably and by the time they sit down to have a late lunch, there are trays upon trays of cookies cooling on the countertop. They have chicken salad and sample every batch of cookies for dessert. (Bee's favorites are chocolate chip and she lets it slip that her dad prefers oatmeal raisin; Rachel discreetly fills one of her daddy's artful tin canisters with those for Noah). Bee changes into her soccer uniform as Rachel loads the cookie baskets in the back of her car and together they drive off to the park, all while Bee animatedly talks about everything soccer-related. Rachel doesn't quite understand the fascination but she is happy to listen to the enthusiastic words pouring from the bubbly teenager beside her.

When they arrive to the park, Noah is waiting for them. He is talking to an exceedingly tall man and a beautiful blonde woman, with a hyperactive boy running circles around them and screaming. The man is wearing sweat shorts riding far too high on his thighs to be considered decent and a white tee shirt with the name of Bee's team on it. A whistle is on a chain around his neck and a baseball cap partially shields his face from the afternoon sun. The woman stands quietly, her head tilted to the side as she gazes up into the blue sky. She beckons the boy to join her and together they look up with their heads similarly tilted and the same curious expression in their faces as they scrutinize the sky above them.

"That's Uncle Finn and Aunt Britt." Bee tells her before they approach them. "Uncle Finn is dad's best friend since forever, and Aunt Britt is weird but in an awesome way. That's their son, Nicky Rainbow."

"Rainbow?"

Bee shakes her head sagely. "They're gonna bully him so hard in high school."

Noah's face lights up once he sees them. He says something to Finn and the taller man's eyes go so wide they nearly pop out. He gapes a little too, regarding Noah with something akin to bewildered disbelief. He pulls Brittany's sleeve and shamelessly points at Rachel, bouncing on his heels like a giant toddler.

Bee jumps into her father's arms and he spins her a little, shooting Rachel a brilliant smile over her shoulder.

Soon after, the game starts and Rachel takes a seat on the first row of bleachers sandwiched between Noah and Brittany. Nicky Rainbow stands next to his father on the side of the field, jumping up and down and occasionally blowing his own whistle. He repeats everything Finn says with his ear-piercing voice and dances randomly when their team scores. On Rachel's left, Brittany watches him with adoring eyes.

Between cheering, watching the whirlwind that is her son and attempting to steal cookies from the tin Rachel gave Noah, Brittany manages to tell Rachel the story of her life. From Glee Club, Cheerios and living a miserable existence under the eclipsing grandeur of Britney Spears to falling in love with Finn, getting married within a week of officially dating him and having the most beautiful, smart little boy she could dream of.

"We're trying to have a girl now," she whispers secretively. "I want to name her Wendy Crystal Sky."

Rachel recognizes a few of the girls. It's rather disconcerting watching the perfect, poised ballerinas she knows play like vicious, aggressive tigresses. The way they charge against the other team with what can only be called inhuman fierceness…she's a little scared for her next dance class, to be honest. In the end they win (frankly she's a little surprised the other team didn't just surrender after the second 'unintentional' bloody nose) and all the girls gather around in a group hug, chanting and jumping as the proud parents clap and bellow animatedly.

From the sidelines, Nicky Rainbow speedily charges toward them, jumps and neatly lands on the mass of girls, his father shaking his head and grinning a few feet away.

The parents get up and go to congratulate their daughters. Rachel and Brittany idle back, slowly strolling to where Finn is talking to a group of parents. Noah is a few feet away, talking to Beth and her friend Nina with Nicky Rainbow slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Are you for real?" Brittany asks while they're still out of Noah's earshot. Rachel frowns, confused. "I mean you and Puck. Are you really dating?"

Rachel smiles, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "We only went out once but…" she shrugs one shoulder, looking at Noah. "I like him."

"He likes you too, I can tell." Brittany states. "We're having a glee get-together tonight. You should totally come. I'm gonna tell Puck he has to bring you."

Minutes later she does, her husband agreeing wholeheartedly. Noah smiles and shoots Rachel a wink when his friends aren't looking. He holds her hand on their way to the parking lot, mindless of Bee's glittering eyes and accomplished smile as she trails behind them.

Ooo

It's like one of those nights that start really, really good, but end up bad. Only worse.

'Directions' is apparently the place to be at on a Sunday night. It's packed to say the least, and louder than she would've imagined. It's a strange hybrid of a karaoke bar, a pizza parlor and a night club.

It's where Rachel meets Noah's friends. Or, more precisely, she is put on display in front of a group of gawking adults that ask her time and time again if she's real and just what the fuck she's doing with Noah (Puck, they call him. She's not particularly fond of the name) and in Lima, of all places. After they get over the initial shock that is Noah dating someone, and that someone being her, they are more than welcoming and Rachel admits to herself that they do seem nice. There's Finn and Brittany, police officer/soccer coach and cheerleading coach, respectively. Artie, Santana's husband, is a high school science teacher who also directs the school band. He and Santana make the oddest couple she's ever met, him being wheel chair bound and quiet in an 'I'm-observing-you-and-dissecting-your-soul-with-my-piercing-blue-eyes' way and Santana being generally exuberant and, at several points, obnoxiously loud. Mercedes' husband Matt is a chiropractor and the very first thing he says to her is suggest she changed her regular pillow for an orthopedic one because the arch of her neck is apparently too stiff at sight. Kurt and Blaine, gay couple extraordinaire, descend upon her and ask her a million and one questions (_Do you know Kristin? Don't you love her? Isn't she fabulous?). _Kurt is probably the cleanest mechanic she's ever met. His perfectly manicured hands look too neat to have ever been near an engine. Blaine is a lawyer and, small world, he actually works with her Daddy. Mike is a CPA and upon learning she's running her own business, he hands her his business card and tells her to give him a call if she ever needs anything. Tina is a psychologist and as she sits next to Rachel, she whispers sordid tidbits of information about her friends. Like how Santana took Finn's and Matt's virginity, Brittany took Artie's and Mike's, Matt took Mercedes' and Mike took hers. She says the last far too nonchalantly, so naturally Rachel asks, very discreetly, if they're still romantically involved. Tina lets out a breathy laugh that does nothing to hide the way her eyes flit nervously over the table to see if anyone heard her before quietly and fervently telling Rachel her conclusion was absurd.

The proud owner of the bar, Will Schuester, approaches them with two waiters in tow carrying two large trays with free drinks. He sits with them for a while and Rachel learns that he was four years their senior in high school and led the school's glee club to their first national title. He also has a position as Spanish teacher at the local school and directs the glee club.

She finds herself laughing that night more than she has in years. They bicker and fight and make fun of each other but it's so obvious they love each other and that this little group of diverse, interconnected weirdoes are probably closer than most families she's seen. Rachel's never had friends like these, never knew friendships like these existed, and yes, she's jealous. But being here with them and feeling like she belongs, even if maybe she doesn't, somehow makes it all better.

So that's the part of the night that goes more than well. Until the singing starts.

Of course, it's a karaoke bar. It's no surprise to her when some of the patrons get up from their seats and go up to the stage to sing. The talent is quite lacking but she admires their courage.

Midway into their little get-together, Kurt finally sniffs and stands up. "I think it's time we show them how it's done, don't you think?" he says haughtily. "Shall we ladies?"

He makes a bee line for the stage with Mercedes, Santana, Tina and Brittany in his wake. They share a few words with Will and he smirks wickedly and nods. The crowd seems expectant, pointedly following their moves up on the stage as they get ready to perform.

Noah's hand finds hers under the table and he twines their fingers together over her thigh. He shoots her a smirk and leans closer to speak softly in her ear. "You're gonna love this."

He discretely blows hot air on her ear and she shivers. Grinning triumphantly, he plants a kiss on her neck and turns back to the stage, leaving her flustered.

She ignores the amused chuckles of his friends and turn to watch Tina take the stage as the others dance in the background to the first beats of the song.

_Hey there sugar baby  
Saw you twice at the pop show  
You taste just like glitter mixed with rock and roll _

Brittany joins Tina and they sashay their hips holding hands together, singing with their backs to each other.

_I like you a lot lot  
Think you're really hot hot_

On the other side of the stage, Mercedes comes around to stand near the edge.

_I know you think you're special  
When we dance real crazy  
Glam-aphonic, electronic, disco baby _

Brittany flitters to her side and rubs against Mercedes in a serious of flirty moves that have her husband Finn shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

_I like you a lot lot  
All we want is hot hot_

Kurt takes the center of the stage as the girls dance around him as they sing the chorus.

_Boys boys boys  
We like boys in cars  
Boys boys boys  
Buy us drinks in bars  
Boys boys boys  
With hairspray and denim  
Boys boys boys  
We love them! _

"They're really good!" Rachel whisper-shouts in Noah's ear over the loud music. "I never thought they'd be so talented."

"We used to do this kind of thing all the time back in glee club," he says. "Our director had a thing for spur of the moment ensembles so we got really good at improvising shit."

"You're saying they never practiced this before?" she frowns. They're obviously quite not up to par with her proficiency once upon a time but they can certainly carry a tune and their vocals are impeccable. Not to mention the choreography, while not abundantly complex, is not what she'd call 'simple'.

He shrugs. "We all work different schedules and we have families and stuff to take care off. I doubt they found the time to get together and run through it."

With a healthy dose of astonishment, she turns her eyes back to his friends, watching with newfound admiration as they sing and dance. The concept of spur-of-the-moment and improvisation is completely lost to her. She's been a performer practically her entire life and even her impromptu presentations came from a catalog of finely honed pieces she kept up her sleeve. She's never ever put on a show for people without having previously worked on her choice until she was sure she'd reached perfection. She always got a deep sense of security knowing she was ready and nothing could go wrong with her performance because she was, if anything, prepared. Stage fright wasn't an issue, but control was. If she wasn't in control of every little detail that could affect her performance, if she didn't know precisely the next step, the next note, she would've lost it.

Vaguely she wondered if not knowing, not being in control would've worked for her, if perhaps she would've felt more free, relaxed through all those years. Enjoyed herself more.

The sight of Santana twirling front and center catches her attention. The Latina proudly flaunts her nearly exploding pregnant belly, somehow managing to move seductively, her smoldering gaze catching sight of her husband in the crowd.

_I'm not loose, I like to party  
Let's get lost in your Ferrari  
Not psychotic or dramatic  
I like boys and that is that  
Love it when you call me legs  
In the morning buy me eggs  
Watch your heart when we're together  
Boys like you love me forever_

"Good lord." Across the table, Artie sighs with dismay. "Her water's gonna pop if she keeps moving like that."

"She's really quite flexible." Rachel comments. She's never seen a pregnant woman swirl her hips and bend over quite like that.

Artie smiles and shoots a proud, leering glance at his wife. "Yes, she is."

_Boys boys boys  
We like boys in cars  
Boys boys boys  
Buy us drinks in bars  
Boys boys boys  
Hairspray and denim  
Boys boys boys  
We love them!  
We love them! _

The crowd breaks in enthusiastic applause and the girls and Kurt bow gracefully.

Will hands Kurt a mic and the applauses gradually die down under his haughty gaze.

"Thank you. We dearly appreciate it, you're a wonderful public." He smiles, glancing around the room. "There's someone very special with us here tonight. You know her as Lima's most famous native and an award-winning Broadway star. As of now, I know her a new addition and, hopefully, a permanent fixture to our little group of misfits." He winks at her and then wiggles his perfectly trimmed eyebrows in Noah's direction. "She's also a terrific girlfriend to Puck, who deserves it, even if he is, to this very day, a gigantic pain in my tender behind. For now though, I'll be content if she'll sing with us tonight. Rachel dear, will you please join us up here and show us those amazing pipes of yours?"

Her smile, which had been growing to a full-fledged grin for the duration of Kurt's speech, suddenly fell, her whole body going stiff as every pair of eyes in the place turn to her expectantly, Santana and the others onstage are waving for her to join them, Noah's friends are encouraging her to go up and 'show them how it's done' while Noah gently nudges her to stand up.

She shakes her head and shrugs him off when Noah tries to touch her arm.

"Go, babe. You'll have fun," he promises, the smile and the way he's looking at her making him ten times more beautiful than he already is.

"I don't want to sing." She says it so plainly, there's no doubting that she's serious.

Her sudden dry tone confuses him for a moment but he nods, his eyes quizzing, then turns to resolutely shake his head in Kurt's direction.

"No?" Kurt frowns for all of two seconds before he plants a smile on his face again, even though it comes off quite tight and forced this time. "It'll be just me then. Girls?" He glances at Santana and the others. "If you please?"

Santana snorts, rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, jutting her belly out and her chest up, all at once. "I'm too fabulous to sing back up to you, lady face."

"In any case, you're far too sharp for my taste, sweetheart." He shrugs elegantly.

"I'm gonna step down on this one too." Mercedes smiles diplomatically. "I don't do vanilla and I see Frankenteen and the Other Asian digging into my special pineapple pizza."

When only Tina and Brittany remain on the stage with him, standing back to sing the harmonies, Kurt gives a nod to Will, who in turn changes the light settings with his computer so that one lonely beam falls upon Kurt's spotless face as the music begins.

Rachel recognizes the song immediately. The rush of panic, longing, fury, and sadness overtakes her so suddenly, she's gritting her teeth and grasping the tablecloth before he start to sing.

When he does, it's like her entire world comes crashing down. She can't breathe, and her eyes are filling with tears and she just can't be there anymore.

_Tale as old as time  
True as it can be  
Barely even friends  
Then somebody bends  
Unexpectedly_

_Just a little change  
Small, to say the least  
Both a little scared  
Neither one prepared  
Beauty and the Beast_

_Ever just the same  
Ever a surprise  
Ever as before  
Ever just as sure  
As the sun will rise_

_Certain as the sun  
Rising in the east  
Tale as old as time  
Song as old as rhyme  
Beauty and the beast_

She scrambles from her seat so fast, she knocks over her chair. She sets it straight with trembling hands and makes to grab her purse.

"Rachel." Noah's hand falls over hers, effectively preventing her from making a quick getaway. "Baby, what's wrong?"

He sees it on her face, she's sure, how much it physically hurts her to _listen_.

_Tale as old as time  
Tune as old as song  
Bittersweet and strange  
Finding you can change  
Learning you were wrong_

"I need to use the restroom." She wiggles her hand free and marches directly to the back of the club. She doesn't spare him or anybody else a glance, intent as she is to just get away.

_Tale as old as time  
Song as old as rhyme  
Beauty and the beast_

She reaches the restroom as the song finishes but she has no intention of going in. Instead, she follows the hallway to where the emergency exit is, pushes the door open and walks out of the club without looking back.

Her tears fell freely, sobs unrestrained the moment she steps onto the pavement. She wants to curl up and cry like she hasn't cried for months, but lingering in a dark alley is both unwise and unpractical. She lived in New York for over a decade and whatever street smarts she acquired strongly advise her to keep moving until she's surrounded by people and preferably light. And Noah would most definitely come looking for her if she doesn't return in the next five minutes and she'd rather he didn't find her.

So she walks. The night is warm and it's not that late. Her dads' house is quite far but her studio isn't. The plush couch she recently purchased for the lobby has never looked so comfortable before.

She's three blocks away when Noah's black truck slows next to her.

"Rachel."

She shakes her head, tries walking faster to get away from him, and all he does is speed past her, park on the side of the street and get out of his truck. She stops in her tracks, tears falling freely down her cheeks. Can't he see she doesn't want to be around anyone right now? Is it wrong that she just wants to be alone and miserable for a little while?

"Go away," she bites out, turning on her heel and taking long strides in the opposite direction, angrily wiping at her tears.

Still, he follows. "Talk to me. What the hell happened back there?"

"Please, just leave me alone," she sobs, dropping her purse as her trembling hands repeatedly brush her cheeks. She can't remember a time when she cried in front of people. Other than while performing, that is. No matter how well she could cry on command, it doesn't compare to the emotional turmoil and misery she's experiencing right now, breaking down in front of this man.

God, she feels so broken. When did that happen?

Suddenly, his large hands come to rest atop her shaking shoulders and it's like she just gives up. Her body fails her and she falls into him, his arms circling her and holding her tight as she sobs. He murmurs nonsense in her ear, kisses her temple and smoothes one hand over her hair, swaying gently. When she tries to pull away, he tightens his hold. She was only just trying to turn around and should be annoyed he wouldn't let her but there's a part of her that feels really good knowing he's that reluctant to let her go. It soothes a primal part deep inside of her.

She takes deep breaths and slowly but surely her sobs die down. A few stray tears still fall upon her cheeks but they're nothing compared to the waterfalls that had run rampant minutes ago. When he feels she's calm enough, Noah loosens his hold, only to turn her so that she can bury her head in his chest. He tightens his arms around her again, planting a series of kisses on the top of her head and running his hands down her back.

"Let me take you home."

She nods once and lets him lead her to the truck.

She keeps looking out the window the entire drive but pays no attention to the road. It's not until Noah kills the engine and pushes the door open that she realizes he didn't take her to her fathers', but rather to his home. He slings an arm around her waist and helps her out of the truck, leads her up the stone steps and deposits her on the porch swing. He leans back against the railing and stares at her expectantly.

She knows he's waiting for an explanation. She's sure he's realized her meltdown is related to her abrupt retirement from Broadway, given that everything was perfectly fine until Kurt asked her to sing and then subsequently sang a song from the musical she last starred in. He asked before what had happened and she wasn't completely honest with him, but chances are he won't let the matter drop now. And as much as it hurts her to talk about it, she wants to tell him. She cares about Noah and she thinks they could be great together. She can't keep this from him.

She takes a big breath and locks eyes with him.

"I can't sing," she announces abruptly. She sees the confusion in his face, but is disinclined to let him voice anything he may have to say. She needs to get this out of her chest now, without interruptions. "I was running scales before a show one night and my voice faltered on the high C. My vocal coach didn't notice, called me silly when I told her that I botched the note and wanted to run through it again. I did and everything was fine so I just took my herbal tea and went on stage like I did every night. I thought maybe I heard wrong and I let it pass. The following morning, my voice was slightly hoarse but it went back to normal after I did some warm-up exercises. I went on like this for a couple of weeks, faltering at certain notes and hitting others, so I took a little break, gave my understudy the chance to perform in my stead and one week later, I was as good as new. Except after every show and every morning when I woke up, my voice was hoarse and thick. I ignored it and pushed harder and harder until my vocal coach and castmates finally started noticing and they suggested I saw a specialist. I saw three different doctors and they ran all sorts of tests, endoscopies and voice clarity and frequency measurements. They all delivered the same diagnose: partial vocal paralysis."

"You sound normal to me." He cuts in.

Rachel nods, biting her lip. "The vibrations caused by the air released from my lungs through my vocal cords are minimum when I'm just talking, so my voice sounds perfectly fine. When I sing though, my left vocal cord can't move to produce the right sound and pitch and my right one is forced to lengthen to make up for the left one's lack of movement, which causes additional strain to my voice.

"Two of the doctors recommended surgery and the other told me to take a break from work and wait a year or two and do voice therapy. Naturally, I ignored the ones that wanted operate and I took a two-month break. I _felt_ fine and my vocal therapist agreed I had improved quite a lot, so I went back to work. Beauty and the Beast would be running for only a month longer and I didn't want to miss it. I did every show, drank tea and did warm-ups but there was nothing I could do to soothe the pain after every show. I felt so…powerless. I found myself not talking unless absolutely necessary, saving my voice just so I could perform in the show. I told myself I just had to keep going a little further and then after closing night, I would go to the doctor and do everything I had to do to fix my voice."

She shivers, remembering that day she sat in front of the doctor as he made it abundantly clear he thought she was the stupidest person he'd even had the misfortune to have as a patient. What she'd put her voice through had ruined every chance she had.

"But it was too late." She shakes her head, her chest heaving from holding back sobs as fresh tears threaten to fall from her eyes. "There was nothing they could do, no surgery, no treatment that could ever fix the damage to my vocal cords. And just like that, it was over. I couldn't sing again."

"I'm sorry," he says after a minute of silence. He tries to catch her eye but she keeps her head down. "I know how much Broadway meant to you."

"You don't get it," she whispers. "Broadway was my dream, yes, but it was music that made me truly, madly happy. The fact that I can't perform anymore, that I can't even sing in the shower or enjoy karaoke is what's killing me. The only thing that always gave me joy has been taken away from me and it hurts so much. Kurt's song just brought everything back, you know? I tried to ignore it and push it away but it hurts and I can't take it. I just want to _sing_, Noah, is that too much to ask?"

She can't fight the tears back any longer and they overtake her just as they did before. Her shoulders shake and she's pretty sure she's wailing, but suddenly Noah's there next to her, holding her.

She doesn't know how long they stay like that. At one point, she curls onto his lap and latches to his neck like a lifeline and his arms tighten around as he gently rocks the swing.

After a while though, when she's calm again and nearly dozing off in his arms, he gets up on his feet and carries her bridal style into the house. He climbs the stairs two at a time without turning the lights on and crosses the darkened hallway to his partially opened bedroom. Once inside, he closes the door with his hip before depositing her on the bed. Gently, he takes her ankle in his hands and removes one heel then the other and runs feather light hands over her calves before crossing to the other side of the bed, kicking off his own shoes and shrugging off shirt and pants. He stands in front of her just in his boxers and even in her sleepy haze, she can't help but marvel at the hard planes of his chest, the unmitigated strength in his arms and the alluring trail of hair going south from his navel.

Her breath hitches and she wiggles out of her skirt before she realizes what she's doing. She lays in his bed in just her tank and panties, eyes hungrily following his movements as he climbs the bed next to her.

"Bee?" She asks.

"Staying over Nina's."

"You're not going to make love to me tonight, Noah," she tells him seriously but with a teasing little glint in her eye as she turns on her side.

He chuckles and curls up behind her, his arms closing protectively around her waist. "We'll see."

He kisses her neck and nuzzles his nose in her hair. They're asleep right away.

**Thoughts anyone? Your reviews mean the world to me :)**


	4. Chapter 4

Hey guys! Sorry, I bet this isn't the update you've been waiting for. I have something to share with you and I just couldn't wait till I posted the next installment of this story (which, fear not, is coming. I know it's been a month since I last updated but I'll be sure to have the next chapter out soon).

For the last few months (like, since November) my friend and beta **joker to the thief** and I have been collaborating on a puckrachel drabble meme prompt fill and we just posted it here on FF . net. It's basically a role reversal kind of story, with Rachel being the residents badass, queen of all things fabulous and evil, and Noah being the misunderstood, artsy loser. I know there are some similar stories out there, but trust me here, you don't wanna miss ours. We did (and continue to do) some serious work on it. We worked the characters backgrounds before we even started to write, we painstakingly selected the songs we'll feature, we have an extremely detailed timeline (six. pages. long.). Everything that goes into this fic, we've discussed endlessly until we're both positive it's perfect. Each of us writes a chapter or a particular scene, send it to the other for additional editing, and then back again for the final touches. It's a lot of work but I'd never have so much fun writing and I'd really appreciate it if you guys give it a shot. I promise you will not be disappointed :)

So look us up! We're **the joker and the queen** and our fic **'the planets bend between us'** is out there and waiting for you!

Mags


End file.
